


Heaven Waits For You

by impalaloompa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual References, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaloompa/pseuds/impalaloompa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural AU set in 2033. America is recovering from the aftermath of a civil war but their new leader is far from ideal. Rebels are rising up and the attempts to regain control of the country has disastrous effects, especially for one individual</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so first of all Cas and Dean's relationship doesn't form until much later chapters. Second, a few of the plot lines of this story will be loosely based on plot lines from the actual show. Thirdly, violence and gore are kind of a major in this story. Fourthly, comments and feedback is greatly appreciated  
> I really hope you enjoy this story  
> 

Prologue  
During the summer of 2029, a twelve year long civil war finally came to an end. Neither side stood victorious. The government had been shattered, cities destroyed and millions of lives lost. America lay devastated.  
That was until one man rose out of the settling dust. One man who brought hope and promise to the survivors. One man who talked of mending old wounds, rebuilding the country and making it strong again.  
This one man who came from nowhere making declarations of peace and a new future, seemingly able to bring the people back from the brink of destruction. He had gathered an amass of followers and together they promised to make America whole again. He called himself Lucifer.  
The people flocked to Lucifer. Following his rule and accepting his leadership. Poor, desperate, hurting people who just needed someone to tell them what to do, to show them their new potential and how to heal.  
For a time things did get better. Cities started to be rebuilt, the people working together to create the promised new future but, after two years of peaceful resolve, their new leader started to show his true colours.  
A dictatorship was soon established. Anyone who did not obey his rule was punished by his 'disciples '. Many cities were left to ruin as were most of the people. Those who couldn't afford a roof over their heads didn't seem to matter to Lucifer and had to work hard to even earn the right to break bread.  
Many of the towns and cities still intact were under strict Guard and Lucifer posted a Head of State in each state to govern and control the people.  
Lucifer made sure that the people knew who was in charge and what would happen to those who disobeyed his rule. The White House had become a symbol of fear. Now a place where Lucifer's victims were dragged and no one could guess at what horrors were concealed behind those walls.  
The rest of the world had turned a blind eye to the goings on in America. They either didn't know or didn't care. Either way, no help was coming.  
Suffering and despair had swept through the country like a plague. It affected every single person. Most of them lowered their heads and accepted the new regime. It was easier to be placid than to fight back but, small pockets of rebellion started to force their way into existence.  
The rebels had already taken Pontiac, Illinois and were building a force behind invisible walls.  
Hope started to spread like wild fire among the people but not enough to amount to anything. Groups of rebels had already been destroyed by Lucifer's forces and many rebels were on the run.  
Lucifer did his best to quell any rebel activity which had influence over the people. I say best because there was one rebel movement which he could not stop. He couldn't find them and every time he came close they would slip through his fingers. This particular group of rebels were known as The Angels.  
Their leader, Michael, had already thwarted his attempts of turning Louisiana into slave farms and his plans to build multiple nuclear stations across the states. The Angels seemed to know his plans and movements so were always one step ahead of him.  
The thing that Lucifer hated the most about The Angels wasn't the fact that they kept getting in the way or the fact that he couldn't touch them. It was their radio broadcasts that riled him up. He didn't know how they were doing it, all of the signals had been jammed or were closely monitored, but The Angels were speaking directly to the people, giving them courage and hope. They had to be stopped before these little rebellions blew into another full scale war.  
And as it was, on May 8th, 2033, Satan's Day as christened by the people to mark the first day when Lucifer's rule began, one particular broadcast touched one particular individual who would change everything.

Chapter One  
Dean Winchester leaned over his 1967 Chevy Impala and busied himself tuning up her engine. It was the only thing he had left that even remotely resembled normal and he always relished the thought of taking her into the abandoned Singer Salvage Yard and spending a quiet few hours tinkering.  
He withdrew from the bowels of the car to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on his brow, smearing oil onto his skin.  
Dean could just make out the old house at the edge of the yard through the heat haze. A small smile tugged at his lips as he remembered how the house used to look before the war started. He remembered sitting on the porch with his father and Uncle Bobby watching the world go by and sipping a cold, refreshing beer.  
He smacked his lips longingly and turned his attention back to the Impala. God how he missed beer but alcohol had become a rationed item and he was lucky to even catch a glimpse of a bottle before it was snatched up by some other town member.  
Dean tried to keep his mind on the task at hand but it kept treacherously wondering over to the old house and memories of pleasanter times.  
He sucked in a sharp breath as his mind poked at the memories he had tried to shut away at the back of his head. No, he hissed to himself. Too much pain surrounded those memories. He brain kept prodding. Flashes of the war erupted in his head. Gunfire. Screaming. He shook himself. Pictures of a young man standing next to him. Tall, handsome, bitch-faced grin. Sam.  
Dean gripped the sides of the bonnet until his knuckles went white. Tears escaped down his cheeks as he felt tremors wrack through his body. The bomb. Sam's warning. Strong hands pushing him to the ground. The earth shattering explosion which ripped past Dean with tremendous force. The blood. Then waking up in a makeshift hospital tent and no Sam.  
Dean tried to control the aching sobs which shook him. He sank to his knees and pressed his head on the cool metal of the car. He missed his younger brother so much that he felt his heart split in two every time he so much as let his name graze his thoughts.  
They had been drafted together after their father had chosen a side. As an ex-marine, John Winchester had the experience and both sides of the war tried to convince him to join them. John and Bobby had left to fight for their country, leaving Sam and Dean to run the Salvage Yard in their absence. When Bobby had returned a year later, confined to a wheelchair and bearing news of their father's death, the brothers had been required to aid the war effort.  
Losing his father had hit him hard. Losing his brother had nearly destroyed him. Dean had last seen Sam in Detroit. He had given the place a wide birth ever since and he and Bobby had moved out of Bobby's house to live nearer the centre of Sioux Falls. Every now and then Lucifer's supply squad would roll through and Dean wanted to be in a position where he could get the best rations he could for Bobby.  
He had taken a job at the local cafe, not that many of the locals used it. The cafe was usually a meeting hub for passing squads and patrols. Dean tried to listen into conversations when he could but any information he learned was either unimportant or too vague to be helpful.  
The days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months until Dean was stuck in a rut of going to work, eves dropping on squads, cooking for Bobby, retrieving supplies, keeping on the good side of the towns perimeter Guards, hiding his feelings and emotions from Bobby, occasionally fixing up the Impala and grieving over Sam.  
It was exhausting and the only relief he got was when the towns’ people gathered in the community hall of an evening, twice a week and huddled around the town’s only working radio.  
Dean looked forward to listening to Angel Radio. It was the only time he got a glimpse of what was going on in the rest of America, of how far down the shithole the country had fallen. Angel Radio also had a way of lifting his spirits. It brought hope to the towns’ people when they learned of The Angel's exploits and movements.  
Dean opened his eyes. He hadn't been aware of even closing them. Too many thoughts rattled around in his head so he put away his tools, closed the bonnet of the Impala and hoped in behind her wheel. He paused for a moment as he took in the empty space beside him. He missed Sam's presence. The Impala felt huge and cold without him.  
He turned the ignition and the car roared into life, eager to take him wherever he needed.  
Dean swung her out of the Salvage Yard and pointed her in the direction of home.  
***  
Dean nodded stiffly to the Guard hovering by the booth as he slowed the Impala to a halt.  
He tried to ignore the sour faced, buzz cut man as he prowled around the Impala looking for anything suspicious. Another Guard approached his window with the same lemon-sucked expression.  
"Name?" he growled.  
"Winchester, Dean," Dean looked ahead, through the bars of the large iron gates and squinted into the depths of Sioux Falls.  
The Guard by his window was flicking through papers on a clip board, sucking air in through his teeth.  
"Ah yes. Winchester. Signed out this morning. 10.46am," the Guard's voice was neutral and professional, checking Dean's face matched the picture on his page, "destination, the Singer Salvage Yard."  
Dean nodded again.  
"Return time?" the Guard glanced at his cracked watch, "17.25pm."  
"Cutting it a bit fine for curfew, boy," buzz cut appeared by the second Guard's shoulder. Their dull green uniforms matched apart from the blue lapel of the second Guard’s collar. The mark of The Head of State.  
"Apologies," Dean kept his voice steady, smile forced as he tried not to squirm in his seat, "I lost track of time."  
If a State Officer had joined the town perimeter Guards, it meant trouble wasn't far behind.  
"Ensure it doesn't happen again," buzz cut scowled, "everyone has to be back within the town perimeter by 5.30 sharp."  
"Let him through," the State Officer called over to the booth.  
With a low creak and the hum of machinery, the gate arched open.  
Dean, forcing himself to keep the Impala slow, drove past the Guards and into Sioux Falls.  
He parked outside the three story block of flats he called home and rushed into the ground floor flat he had been lucky enough to claim.  
The flat was small and sparsely decorated. One bedroom, adjoining bathroom and a cramped kitchen/living area. Any floor or table space had been taken up by the masses of books they had moved from Bobby's old house.  
Bobby sat behind his desk, rustling through papers and taking notes.  
"Bobby," Dean greeted the man with a soft smile.  
Bobby looked up and shook his head.  
"Oil, boy," he chuckled.  
Dean scurried into the bathroom and checked himself in the mirror. Thick, black oil slicked his forehead. He ran a cloth under the sometimes warm tap and attempted to clean himself up.  
After removing the worst of the oil, he moved through to the bedroom and rummaged around in the wardrobe. Dean slept on the couch, allowing the old man the comfort of the only bed, but all of their clothes were stored in the same place.  
Dean changed his tee shirt and shrugged on a blue checked flannel shirt. He grimaced as he realised it was too big for him. It was one of Sam's. He ran a hand through his short hair and contemplated taking it off before re-joining Bobby.  
"Car good?" Bobby asked as he stacked a handful of papers.  
"Yeah," Dean sighed absently.  
"What?" Bobby asked with a frown. He noticed the flannel shirt and a cloud of grief washed over him.  
Dean ducked his searching stare and explored the fridge. He removed a foil dish of leftover macaroni cheese and shoved it in the oven.  
"A State Officer was on the Perimeter Guard rotation this evening". He felt rather than saw Bobby stiffen and kept his eyes on the slowly cooking food.  
Bobby wheeled himself from behind his desk and trundled over to Dean, expertly avoiding the towers of books.  
"Do you think something's up?" Bobby asked earnestly.  
Dean flinched under the man's gaze. Of course he did. When The Head of State got involved, something was always 'up'.  
Bobby could tell from Dean's lack of expression that he clearly thought so.  
"Do you think it's Rebels?" Bobby plucked at his beard.  
"What? No! Why would Rebels be in South Dakota?" Dean smirked, "no, it's probably something to do with the missing supplies."  
Bobby pondered this. Dean was probably right. Supplies had been stolen from the town's rations but why would The Head of State get involved?  
By Dean's grunt, Bobby knew that he had been dismissed and he wheeled himself back to his desk.  
Dean flumped down onto the moth-eaten couch and spiralled a fork into his macaroni.  
"Hey, don't look so depressed!" Bobby grinned at him, "I thought you would be looking forward to tonight!"  
"Tonight...?" Dean replied in confusion, his mouth full of food.  
"It's Tuesday idjit! Angel Radio night!" Bobby sighed with exasperation.  
A genuine smile lit up Dean's face.


	2. Angel Radio

The community hall bubbled with the many voices of the Soux Falls residents. The vast, usually empty space was filled with rapidly filling plastic chairs.  
On the stage at the far end sat the scuffed radio. Tech genius Charlie had managed to hook the radio into the surround sound speakers. She prided herself in this and reminded anyone who would listen.  
Dean took a seat near the back, on the end of the row and Bobby parked himself beside Dean.  
The warmth of excitement pooled in Dean's stomach. He wondered what had been happening since the last broadcast.  
He took in the hall as a sense of community struck him. All of the towns folk gathered together under the bright ceiling lights and slowly darkening windows.  
Movement behind him caused him to look round. Bobby's friend Rufus had been nominated to watch the street tonight. After curfew the guards didn't usually set foot in the town until sunrise but that didn't mean they never would and the residents of Soux Falls didn't fancy being caught listening to a rebel broadcast.  
Dean chuckled to himself as Rufus frowned at the late comers.  
Eventually everyone was seated and a tense silence washed over the stuffy hall. All eyes were on Charlie as she reached over to the radio and twiddled the small dials. Static buzzed from the speakers.  
Dean checked his watch. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.  
"Hello! This is Castiel and you are listening to Angel Radio!"  
The hall cheered as the low, hum of the Angel's voice erupted from the radio.  
"Before we get down to business, how about a song?"  
Music was one of the many things Dean had missed during and after the war. Freedom of music was too cliche for Lucifer and he had somehow managed to confiscate all the CDs, tapes, iPods in existence. Those he had failed to get his claws on either didn't work anymore or the people who owned them didn't have anything to play them on. Angel Radio, as well as bringing hope, had also brought back music. 'Carry on wayward son' by Kansas rumbled from the speakers.  
Dean closes his eyes and smiled to himself. Castiel. Out of the five Angels who took turns in hosting the broadcast, Castiel was his favourite. Castiel had a way of speaking that was sympathetic, calming, motivating and encouraging all at the same time. He was good at engaging his listeners and trying his best to keep things light. There was something about Castiel that Dean recognised in himself but he couldn't quite place it.  
When the song came to an end, those who had been singing along quieted down and prepared to listen to the Angel.  
"Today our Fallen List is mercifully short," each broadcast usually started with a song then the list of the dead from the past few days, civilians and rebels alike. Castiel rattled off the names with uncomfortable ease. Reading the names of the dead wasn't as uncommon as it should be.  
"And now for some good news," Castiel sounded almost cheery and bursting to share, "on Saturday, The Angels managed to intercept a shipment of guns and nasty looking torture devices that was headed to the White House. I am happy to say that Lucifer is pissed and we have gained an invaluable arsenal."  
Applauding exploded from the crowd and it took them a moment to realise that Castiel had begun speaking again.  
"...so I'll let my associate here tell you more about it."  
"Thanks Cas," a cheeky voice sounded through the radio. Dean groaned inwardly as he recognised the voice's owner.  
As the Angel started to describe Saturdays events, Dean could pick out the unmistakeable clicking of a lollipop against teeth.  
Castiel interrupted the flow of words with a sharp sigh.  
"Gabriel, do you have to eat that whilst I'm interviewing you?" Dean could hear the scowl in Castiel's complaint.  
"Why shouldn't I?" Gabriel retorted.  
"Because," Castiel moaned, "it's rude and besides, how many of our listeners have access to candy? None! Just because we do doesn't mean you have to flaunt every opportunity to remind them!"  
"Sorry," Gabriel chuckled. They heard the distinctive 'pop' of the lollipop being pulled from the Angel's mouth.  
Gabriel continued his story, telling of the bravery and loss, describing some of the events rather vividly.  
Castiel thanked him and the listeners could hear him shoo the other Angel away as he introduced the next song.  
Dean relaxed a little and allowed the song to wash over him. His mind flitted back to the war and one moment in particular. The all too familiar feelings of guilt and pain rose up inside him.  
It had been raining. His squad had been crouched behind a structure of rock waiting for their Captain to give them further orders. Sam had been there and two other men. He couldn't remember the name of the big, surly soldier but he could never forget his scrawny counterpart.  
Garth had been drafted not long after Dean and Sam. He had been added to their squad at the last minute. Garth looked out of place in the battle field. His helmet was too big, his rifle too heavy. He disappeared inside his tatty uniform. Being a big brother, Dean had taken Garth under his wing. When the order came for them to move out, the fear in Garth's face had made him sick. He had ushered his squad to the next nearest cover when enemy gunfire rained over their heads. He remembered ducking down and seeing Garth tumble to the ground, his fragile body pummelled with bullets and the blood seeping out over the grass...  
The song ended abruptly and Dean was shaken from his dark memories.  
Bobby raised an eyebrow at him. Dean squirmed as he realised Bobby must have noticed his tense posture. He flashed Bobby a look which said 'later' and turned his attention back to Castiel. Of course, he never intended to discuss anything with Bobby later. He never talked about his time during the war and Bobby never pushed. It suited him fine.  
Castiel rambled on, highlighting a few more of The Angel's successes, brushing over a failed mission and discussing the rebel movements in Illinois. Another Angel had joined him.  
Balthazar was strongly opinionated and didn't always agree with Michael's decisions. He thought that The Angels should send reinforcements and help to push Lucifer's men back. Castiel gently reminded him that Michael was their leader and had the final word. He was very careful not to express his own opinion, something which both Balthazar and Dean picked up on.  
"What about you Cas?" Balthazar questioned in his thick English accent, "what do you think we should do?"  
Castiel was silent for a moment before saying curtly, "the last time I gave my thoughts on anything Michael was or wasn't doing, well, lets just say I never intend to go through that... 'experience' again."  
This shocked Dean more than he would have liked and Balthazar mumbled apologetically, as if he knew exactly what Castiel was talking about.  
"On a brighter note," Castiel said, a clear dismissal to the other Angel, "we have a Call Out today."  
Dean sat upright in his hard, plastic chair. The attention of everyone in the hall was acutely focused on the radio. Call Outs were rare. Sometimes The Angels received messages from people looking to find lost family members and The Angels usually tried everything in their power to reunite them or inform them if the news wasn't good.  
A hot, thick atmosphere settled over the room. The growing tension and excitement rising up like an invisible fog around them. Nearly every person in the hall had someone they hoped the Call Out was from.  
Dean sighed inwardly. Everyone he loved was either dead or sitting next to him in a wheelchair. He was lucky, he guessed. He knew where his loved ones were. His mother, buried in a half destroyed cemetery in Lawrence, Kansas. His father, in a messy grave next to her. Sam... Dean didn't know where Sam's body was but a headstone had been erected beside their parents' anyway.  
"It's a recorded message this time round," Castiel said. Unusual, thought Dean. Most of the Call Outs were read out by the hosting Angel from a letter or something of a similar nature.  
They heard a click of a button from Castiel's end and the recording started playing.  
Dean froze in shock.  
"Erm... My name is Sam Winchester and I'm trying to contact my brother Dean, if he's still alive."  
Blood pumped hard through his veins as Dean tried to control his shaking hands.  
"Hi Dean. I'm so sorry. I know it's been nearly five years but this is the first opportunity I've had to contact The Angels. It's ok if you're mad. I'd be mad at me too."  
Dean was now trying to stop tears from escaping his eyes. I'm not mad Sammy, he thought hazily. How he had missed that voice! The subtle rise and fall of the words and the husky warmth which he had clung to many a night during the war.  
"I'm ok. I've met a girl and I'm doing great. Dean, I had to let you know I'm ok but please, don't come looking for me."  
"WHAT?" Dean yelled before he could stop himself. He felt the stare of every person tracking the tremors rolling through his body.  
"I'm sorry Dean but you can't come looking for me. You mustn't. Please Dean."  
The message cut off.  
Dean sat in a state of shock. What had just happened? Sam was alive? How was that possible? He distinctly remembered the bomb and the blood, so much blood. The twisted form of his brother next to him. The pain wracking through his own body. The gunshots overhead and the shouts of his Commanding Officer.  
"That... must be hard to hear," Castiel said quietly, breaking the suffocating silence, "I'm sorry Dean, wherever you are."  
Dean noticed something in Castiel's voice. Something so slight that he almost missed it. Dean thought hard for a moment, still trying to process the new information. The way Castiel had sounded was almost as if... he didn't believe Sam. Didn't believe Sam was ok, didn't believe that he didn't want Dean to find him.  
Dean's spine tingled as the realisation dawned on him. He knew his brother better than anyone. Sam would have let Dean know right away if he was ok, convenient or not, and he definitely wouldn't have asked Dean not to come looking for him. There was a hidden message here. Sam was in trouble and he needed Dean's help. Dean knew it and somehow, so did Castiel.  
"Dean," Bobby's gasp brought his attention back to the hall. The older man's eyes were brimming with tears and he laid a hand on Dean's shoulder.  
Dean felt his own tears roll down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. Sam was alive. He should have felt better but the pain and guilt twisting his heart tightened its grip and a new fear joined it.  
"Bobby, I have to find Sam," he stuttered, ignoring the other people in the hall. Castiel was talking again but no one was paying any attention. The focus was now on Dean and his reactions.  
"But he said he didn't want to be found," Bobby growled.  
"You don't understand!" Dean said desperately, "Sam would never ask that of me! He wants me to go looking for him!"  
"Dean!" Bobby interrupted, " do not go looking for Sam. That way only leads to trouble and I couldn't bare it if I lost you too."  
Dean turned his head away.  
"I, uh, I need some air," he murmured.  
He launched himself from his chair, sidled past Bobby, brushed shoulders with Rufus and escaped into the cool night air.  
Dean took in a shaky breath as the fresh air hit his lungs. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to leave Bobby, but he had to look for his brother.  
His eyes were wet and he tried to dry them with his sleeve. Sam's sleeve. Dean choked a sob and gazed up at the twinkling stars.  
"I'm coming for you Sam, I promise," Dean decided.  
Now that he had made a decision, Dean felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders. He had a purpose again. No more ambling through life.  
He knew that the next few days were going to be difficult. He had to tell Bobby first. He also had to get permission from The Head of State to leave South Dakota. He could just leave the state but with a permission form, traveling would be much easier and harassment free.  
Dammit! Now he had to appeal to the better nature of The Head of State. He didn't know how he was going to convince him to sign a form but he had to at least try.  
Dean hadn't realised but he was now wondering along the deserted street towards his apartment.  
He paused as a scuffling noise caught his attention. He peered down the neighbouring street and froze in horror.  
About twenty or thirty guards were marching down the street, right towards the community hall.  
Dean noticed that they were led by three State Officers.  
Adrenalin coursed through him as he spun of the spot and raced back the way he had come.  
He had to reach the hall first, he just had to.


	3. A Turn of Events

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little longer than the others to publish. I will try to update every two days if I can. This chapter is quite dark in places and is quite gory.  
> I hope you are enjoying the story so far. As always, feedback and comments are appreciated

"TURN IT OFF!" Dean yelled as he burst through the hall doors.  
Rufus fell back with surprise and every head turned to look at him.  
"Dean what-?" Bobby started to ask.  
"The radio! Off! Now!" Dean shouted at Charlie between breaths.  
Castiel was cut off as Charlie leaped up onto the stage and gave the radio a hefty thump.  
Dean sucked in lung fulls of air and choked out his next words.  
"Guards. State Officers. Headed this way!"  
Panic gripped the room as people started rising from their seats and looking for escape routs.  
"We need to get everyone out of here," Rufus' gruff voice sounded from behind Dean.  
"No time!" Dean gasped.  
As he spoke, the community hall doors flew open again, this time hitting Rufus squarely in the face. The old man stumbled backwards clutching a broken nose.  
The State Officer Dean had met earlier that day was in the lead, closely flanked by a tall State Officer supporting a handlebar moustache and a thickset State Officer with a pair of horn rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose.  
Dean recognised buzz cut in the middle of the following Guards.  
"Well now," moustache said smugly, "the tip off was right."  
Glasses narrowed his eyes as he spotted the radio on the vast stage.  
"What were you all listening too?" he demanded. His voice was scarily calm and sent shudders down Dean's spine.  
Frozen to the spot, the solider in Dean wanted to put on a brave face and stand up to these men. The part of Dean that had been broken and shredded wanted to curl up in a corner and hide. The soldier won.  
"Please Officers..." he began, proud of himself for keeping his voice level.  
With a slight nod from the leading State Officer, moustache cut Dean off by thrusting a rock hard fist into Dean's stomach.  
Winded, Dean slumped to his knees but not before strong hands spun him round and grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging his head back to expose his Adam's apple. A cruel looking blade was pressed to his jugular and a knee pushed painfully into his back.  
Dean kept very still and tried to ignore the horrified look on Bobby's face.  
"Turn it on," glasses indicated the radio with a sharp nod.  
Charlie shook with fear. Her fingers fumbled with the dials as she desperately tried to tune in the radio again.  
"NOW!" glasses shouted, "or pretty boy here gets it!"  
Dean felt the intense pressure of the knife bite into the skin and a bead of blood teared down his neck.  
Charlie's cheeks were streaked with salty droplets when she finally found Angel Radio. Castiel's voice echoed off the walls and the first State Officer shook his head.  
"Listening to rebel broadcasts, huh?" moustache sneered.  
"A crime as stated by Lucifer," glasses folded his arms and cast a side long glance at the first State Officer.  
The first State Officer looked grim.  
"Punishable by death," he said, deadpan.  
Tremors of fear rippled from the gathered towns people. Dean felt bile rising in his throat.  
"But what would be the sense in killing you all?" moustache grinned.  
He gave a silent command and the town Guards stepped forwards raising their assorted guns.  
The three State Officers moved aside, moustache dragging Dean with him.  
The residents of Soux Falls looked like deer in headlights. Mothers clung to children, fathers taking brave steps to block their families from view. Men and women, young and old, all terrified, all trying to draw comfort from each other.  
Dean struggled in moustache's grip as the guards prepared to fire. He received a sharp blow to the back of his head and forced himself to become still again.  
Glasses gave the order and the Guards fired one, two, three rounds into the caught crowd. Screaming drowned out Castiel's speech as the bullets hit and mowed down their targets.  
Most of the people closest to the guards fell to the floor. Dean screwed his eyes shut as his breath hitched in his chest and the screaming pierced his ears. Grief and fury flowed through him and then he felt only numb.  
The hand in his hair loosened and the blade was removed from his neck. He slumped forwards as he took in the scene before him.  
Blood. Thick, dark and oozing, pooling everywhere. It flowed from bodies, it splattered shocked faces, it dripped off chairs. About thirty or forty men and women had been slain. Dean looked away as he spotted the bodies of children among the dead. Those bastards.  
"And let that be a lesson to you," moustache growled as the Guards and State Officers left the hall.  
"Consider yourselves under Lockdown," the first State Officer grumbled, "rations cut, no one leaves Soux Falls without permission, no contact with the outside world until we see fit."  
Glasses threw a look over his shoulder and before he left, he pumped another bone quaking round into the heart of the radio. Castiel's voice died in a splutter then was replaced by static, then by silence.  
The doors swung shut and a low sobbing began. Mournful and grief ridden, it started like the pattering of a rain shower which then built into a twisted, horrific noise, beating off the roof like thunder.  
Dean swayed in shock. He had seen some terrible things whilst away at war. He had thought he had left all those things behind him, tucked away in his tainted memories. He never thought he would witness anything so devastating again, especially so close to home.  
He stared at his hands as furious teas rolled down his face. Unwanted memories flashed behind his eyes, painful and gut wrenching.  
Before he could stop himself, Dean threw himself into a corner behind the doors and was violently sick. He stood hands on knees, bend over and shaking. A trail of saliva hung from his mouth and he wiped it away with his sleeve. Sam's sleeve. Dammit.  
A firm hand grasped his shoulder and he allowed himself to be turned round. The brown eyes of Rufus studied his face. Dean managed to register the fact that Rufus's nose was bent and blood smeared his face.  
Rufus guided Dean over to one of the upright chairs and bent down so that he was eye level.  
Something in Rufus's face was dark and sorrowful. Dean had to work hard to keep focused on the older man's voice.  
"Dean," Rufus choked, "It's... Bobby."  
Dean snapped to attention. He didn't like where this was going.  
"He-he tried to get out of the way. Dean, he wasn't fast enough. He..." Rufus's voice wavered.  
Realisation hit Dean like a tone of bricks. No, not Bobby. He couldn't be. Bobby was his rock, his home and family. He could always count on Bobby to help him and support him. Bobby had taken him in, looked after him, loved him like a son. He owed Bobby so much and now he was gone. Just like Mom, just like Dad, just like Sam.  
Dean buried his head in his hands and wept shamelessly. His whole body shook and he couldn't catch his breath. He couldn't take any more hurt, any more pain. It was too much.  
Rufus hung his head and tried to control his own tears.  
Eventually Dean looked up. His young, freckled face was taut and his green eyes were bleary.  
"Where, uh, where is he?" he said quietly.  
Rufus nodded towards his left and Dean tilted his head to get a better look. Bobby's wheelchair lay on its side. Dean could just make out the outline of Bobby's boots. The rest of his surrogate father was hidden behind a jumble of chairs.  
A lump formed in Dean's throat as he approached the wheelchair.  
Bobby looked peaceful. He could have been sleeping if it weren't for the gaping hole in his chest and the flood of blood surrounding him.  
Dean's hand trembled as he reached out to touch Bobby's still shoulder. His vision blurred.  
This couldn't be real. Dean sank to his knees, soaking his jeans in slowly drying blood.  
Another wave of tears overcame him and he wrapped his arms around himself.  
***  
Dean was exhausted. Too tired to cry, too numb to care.  
He stared at Bobby's grave stone with a blank expression. Rufus, Charlie and a few other of Bobby's closest friends stood behind him.  
Two days had passed since the shooting. Many of the victims had already been buried. Dean had wanted to wait a day so that he had a chance to pull himself together. It hadn't really worked but at least he wasn't crying anymore.  
Dean glanced around at the thirty seven fresh graves and held back a sigh. There were too many bodies and not enough coffins. Those who had served in the war, like Bobby and several other of the victims, were given coffins to commiserate the loss but for those who hadn't, their families had to make do with quickly constructed wooden boxes.  
It wasn't fair but then again, the Guards had been in charge of the burials.  
Dean ran a hand over the roughly cut name in the grave stone.  
"I'm sorry Bobby," he mumbled. He knew that what had happened wasn't his fault but he still felt that he should have been able to protect the older man, somehow.  
He couldn't stay here, in this town. He had to find Sam. He had to reconstruct what little family he had left. But he couldn't help feeling guilty at the thought of leaving Bobby here alone. He felt like he was abandoning Bobby.  
Dean shook himself. He couldn't afford to think like that. Sam needed him.  
He turned his back on the grave and brushed past Charlie on the way back to the Impala.  
"Dean?" she squeaked.  
Dean paused and closed his eyes.  
"What are you going to do now?" Charlie bit her bottom lip.  
"I have to find Sam," Dean said, voice sounding strained.  
He half expected her to try and stop him, to talk him out of it or make him stay but, she simply said, "Good luck."  
Dean had to stop himself from retorting something about his luck and instead, wrapped his arms around the slim girl in a rare hug.  
She flashed him a small smile as he let her go and marched towards his car.  
***  
The apartment felt cold and empty without Bobby. Dean leant against the kitchen counter and thumbed the long-since-empty whisky bottle beside him.  
He had packed up his stuff into the Impala boot and was taking a moment to say goodbye to his home.  
He remembered when, years ago before the civil war broke out, John had joked that you could fit an entire arsenal into that boot. Dean had scoffed and Sam had laughed. 'Or it could snugly fit a body,' Bobby had added with a wink. Dean had tested this theory by stuffing his brother into the space, closing the boot then sitting on it before John shooed him away and let out a rather pissed off and bitch-faced Sam.  
Dean smiled at the pleasant memory. He didn't have many of those and he treasured each one.  
Now the Impala boot held all of Dean's clothes and toiletries in a duffle bag along with Bobby's rifle and several boxes of ammo. He had also stuffed the hand gun Bobby usually kept in the drawer under his desk into the glove compartment.  
He was in no state to drive but didn't really care. He was going to leave the state that night, with or without the Head of State's permission form.  
Dean rubbed a hand through his stubble as he took a last look around the apartment. He had given Rufus Bobby's key and the older man had promised to sort through the apartments contents then sell it on for him. Dean was grateful. He didn't think he would be able to survive digging through Bobby's belongings, reliving painful and warming memories.  
Dean swung himself off the counter and dumped the bottle into the sink.  
He left the apartment, clicking the door shut behind him.  
Dean walked slowly to the Impala and slid in behind her wheel. He stared at the dash for a moment, feeling the ever present lack of Sam, then turned on the ignition. The sound of her engine was a welcome comfort. So much shit had happened over the past few days, it was good to have something familiar.  
Very slowly, Dean reversed the Impala out of the parking space and headed towards the towns perimeter.  
He passed the derelict houses and mourning civilians with a hard expression on his face. He could feel the alcohol effecting his concentration so he kept the Impala at a steady 25mph.  
Eventually he pulled up beside the perimeter fence, a good way from the nearest gate and watched the approaching patrol with tension forming a knot in his stomach.  
He slipped out of the Impala and pressed himself against the mesh to get a better look at the Guards faces.  
He knew who should be on this rotation. He went back and fourth between Soux Falls and the Singer Salvage Yard enough to have learned the patrols and rotations by heart.  
Dean saw the face he was hoping to see.  
"Gordon!" he called through the fence.  
The Guard looked in his direction and a sad smile tugged the corners of his lips.  
Gordon waved the rest of his patrol on and joined Dean by the fence.  
Gordon and Dean had fought together in Arizona during the war. Their relationship had been professional at first but as time went on Dean found a firm friend in Gordon.  
Gordon swept him with a sympathetic look. He looked smart in his uniform, shot gun slung over his shoulder.  
"I heard about the community hall incident," Gordon blinked at Dean, trying to gage his reaction, "I'm so sorry about Bobby."  
Dean gave a gruff nod and skirted round the topic quickly.  
"I need your help," Dean started.  
"I'll do what I can," Gordon promised.  
"I need to speak to the Head of State. I want to leave South Dakota and find my brother," Dean said in a rush.  
Gordon stared for a moment, trying to dissect the information.  
"Sam's alive?" he finally asked.  
"Yeh, I heard it on Angel Radio. Come on, I know you can take me to the Offices. Please," Dean pleaded.  
Gordon sighed, "Fine. Bring the Impala to the gate. I'll sign you through."  
Dean could have hugged him if the mesh wasn't in the way.  
"See you in a minute," Dean called over his shoulder as he raced towards the Impala.


	4. The Head of State

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finally introduce the mysterious Head of State! I hope you like what I've done here! This chapter is not so dark. Making up for the last one. Thank you guys for taking an interest in my story. I know I'm not the best writer!  
> This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, just bare with me

Offices' are large pearl white buildings of multiple floors and gleaming windows. Offices' were erected in each state when Lucifer appointed Heads of State. It was where each Head of State governed the people in their charge and it was also where the state records were kept.  
Dean followed Gordon up the flagstone steps and through the revolving doors of South Dakota's Offices. The entrance hall was vast and marbled. The floors, walls, pillars and ceiling were all layered in varying shades of swirly stone. It was pristine and modern and made Dean feel dirty and small.  
Gordon marched over to the reception desk, leaving Dean to marvel at the water fountain in the middle of the hall.  
A woman wrapped in a robe with a small child at her feet. She was holding a large lilly from which water poured. It was simple yet beautiful. Dean had become accustomed to the rubble and grey of Soux Falls. He had almost forgotten what nice things looked like.  
He cast a glance at Gordon who seemed to be flirting with the pretty woman behind the reception desk. This could take a while. Dean took the opportunity to stretch his legs after the four hour long drive and walked round the perimeter of the fountain.  
He noted how every space along the walls of the hall that didn't have doors or stair cases leading off were shrouded in pot plants. Their lush green leaves exploded from the branches creating artistic sprays of nature against the cold marble.  
Dean felt incredibly out of place. This building represented the rich and powerful in the state and was a symbol of Lucifer's dominance. It wasn't meant for the likes of him.  
Though, he thought to himself, Bobby would have appreciated the architecture. Dean grimaced as his thoughts turned back to the older man. He had managed to spend most of the car journey thinking about Sam and how he was going to find him.  
A new wave of grief washed over him and he ran a hand through his short, dirty blond hair.  
Gordon beckoned him over. Dean joined his friend and Gordon lead him up a flight of stairs to the immediate right of reception.  
"I phoned ahead," Gordon said over his shoulder, "you're expected."  
They reached the landing and Gordon punched the button of the elevator. A bubble of excitement grew in Dean at the thought of riding in a lift.  
He had been in an elevator once before with John when he was very young. He couldn't remember the reason for using it but he could remember the weird yet not unpleasant sensation in his stomach as the lift rose up the floors.  
The elevator doors opened with a cheerful ping. Gordon strode in and tapped the button for the top floor. Dean sidled in beside him and smiled inwardly at the too pleasant music swirling in the unexpectedly large space.  
The elevator swept up the floors and in no time at all they were stepping out into the top floor corridor. The sudden contrast in decor made Dean's head swim. Instead of cold, hard marble, the floor, walls and ceiling were carpeted in thick, lush velvet of a deep crimson colour. Pictures of various cities dotted the walls and at intervals along the walls sat more flowing pot plants.  
Gordon lead him to the end of the corridor which opened up into another reception area. He approached the black haired receptionist. Dean saw her eyes lift up from the magazine she was holding and regarded him with interest.  
"Hi, I'm Meg," she said in a low drawl, completely ignoring Gordon.  
Dean tried not to blush. Meg looked as if she were trying to undress him with her eyes.  
Gordon cleared his throat loudly.  
"We are here to see-" he started.  
"He's inside. Not quite ready for you though," Meg still hadn't taken her eyes from Dean.  
Gordon nodded stiffly and turned his back on her.  
"So what you here for? Not in any trouble are ye'?" a slow smile crept over her lips.  
Dean shook his head. He was too busy staring at the computer on the desk. It was large, flat screened and paper thin. The screen shimmered with reflections. It was so elegant and technical. The last computer Dean had seen was a dog-eared laptop from the early 2010's.  
Meg started and touched her ear. Dean noticed the small round bud nestled in her ear. Meg gave a throaty "yessir" and flicked her hair to cover her ear again.  
"He's ready for you now. Be sure to give him a kiss for me," she wiggled her eyebrows.  
Before Dean could answer, Gordon grabbed his arm and hauled him over to a large, elaborately carved mahogany door. He pushed the door open and pushed a suddenly nervous Dean inside.  
"Hello boys," a gravely British voice greeted them.  
Dean stood ridged beside Gordon.  
South Dakota's Head of State sat behind a solid black wood desk in a large leather chair. His name was printed in gold on a plaque above his head. Crowley.  
Crowley was dressed in an expensive looking black suit. His black shirt was creaseless and a red tie hung around his neck. He also wore a smirk which would usually provoke Dean but Dean kept himself together.  
Dean had heard many rumours about Crowley. He gazed around taking in the window-less dark walls, practically empty desk top and neatly organised shelves. The room had no personal touches. No pictures, no ornaments, nothing to give Dean an idea of who this man was and what he was like.  
It took him a moment to realise that the large shadow in the corner of the room was breathing. The shadow shifted and Dean held his breath. A gigantic black hound padded into view. It looked mean and scrutinising as it prowled round behind the desk and settled beside Crowley. As the Head of State placed a hand on its large flat head, the hound fixed Dean with an unsettling stare.  
Dean shuffled uncomfortably and tried to ignore the hound.  
Crowley's smirk grew into a grin. He dismissed Gordon with a wave of his hand. Dean didn't like the idea of being left alone with Crowley and the hound.  
"So," Crowley sighed, folding his fingers under his chin, "Dean Winchester. What can I do for you this fine day?"  
Dean couldn't help but pick up on the mocking tone to Crowley's voice and he rolled his hands into fists. He immediately disliked Crowley.  
"I was curious," Crowley didn't give Dean a chance to answer, "When I heard that John Winchester's son wanted to see me, I couldn't say no."  
"You-you knew my father?" Dean spluttered. Of all the things he expected to hear, that was not one of them.  
"Yes, we fought together. 2025. Iowa, if I remember correctly," Crowley tilted his head. His eyes were dark as if remembering unpleasant times.  
Dean nodded slowly.  
"I came to ask for a permission form to leave the state. Sir," Dean added quickly.  
The grin was back.  
"And why would a spritely young squirrel such as yourself want to leave South Dakota?" Crowley curled his fingers around the hounds ears, "Especially after the shooting in Soux Falls. Surely your town would need you now more than ever?"  
Dean cringed when Crowley mentioned the slaughter. An action which the Head of State didn't miss.  
"Nasty business," Crowley looked Dean straight in the eye, "but listening to Angel Radio is against the law. You had to be punished."  
Dean broke the stare and focused on the ground.  
"Why do you want to leave?" Crowley asked again, "the whole truth please."  
Dean swallowed hard.  
"Whilst listening to Angel Radio I learned that my brother, Sam, is still alive. I-I have to find him. Bobby Singer died in the..." Dean took a shaky breath, "he's gone. I have nothing left tying me to Soux Falls."  
Crowley studied Dean carefully. The hound by his feet twitched a muscled shoulder and rested its head on Crowley's thigh. The Head of State rubbed its neck absently.  
"Tell you what, I'll make you a deal," Crowley said.  
Dean tensed. He had heard about this. Crowley's famous deals that always seemed fair but always bettered the Head of State himself. What no one really considered was that, through his dickishness, Crowley was in fact a fair and just authority compared to the other Heads of State.  
"I will sign a permission form for you. In return, you must go to Illinois, alone, an armed guard would draw too much attention, and deliver a package to the Head of State there. This package will aid Lucifer's forces in retaking Pontiac. Alastair will be expecting you and if you screw this up you will be tracked down and torn apart," as Crowley hissed the last few words, the hound added a menacing growl as if to back up its master's threat.  
Dean closed his eyes. Alistair. The horrors surrounding the Head of State were legendary. Was a permission form worth dealing with Alistair and undoing the rebels hard work? For Sam, yes. But, his brain tried to rationalise, is helping Lucifer? Lucifer who had made their lives a living hell. Who had torn families apart, abandoned those in need and ruled the country with an iron will.  
Sam, his heart argued. A permission form would make finding him easier. Again his brain intervened. Being responsible for a package of unknown contents. Getting it to Alistair. What if he was discovered with the package? What would the rebels do to him for aiding Lucifer?  
Dean gritted his teeth as he weighed the deal in his mind. Crowley sat patiently. Eventually, Dean's heart won.  
"You have a deal," Dean lifted his gaze to meet Crowley's.  
A hard smile crept across the Head of State's face.  
"Good," he chuckled heartily.


	5. His Journey Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, several things...  
> Ive just realised that I keep spelling Sioux as Soux... sorry about that  
> Thank you all for reading this far, it's encouraging to know that you're enjoying my work  
> Don't panic! There will be more of Crowley later

10 days. Crowley had given him 10 days to deliver the package, a small rectangle box wrapped in brown paper which he had tucked safely into a corner of the Impala's trunk, to Alistair. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen to him if he failed to meet the deadline.  
Dean was perched on the end of a mouldy motel bed somewhere near the border of South Dakota.  
Not many motels were still in business. Those that were were shabby, run down piles of rubble with extremely high rates.  
The wall paper in Dean's room was faded and peeling from the walls. The carpet was threadbare. What was left of the kitchen units were covered in a sticky substance. The single light swinging over head was shadeless and dull. The bathroom was pokey and the only light came from a smeared window looming over the cracked bath. A small sink was crushed in the corner behind the door and the toilet skulked opposite. Neither were appealing and neither worked properly. At least there was hot and cold running water.  
The sad thing was, Dean had stayed in worse.  
Dean put his head in his hands. He was trying to formulate a plan to get him through the next few weeks. First things first, deliver the package. That meant traveling to Illinois and that meant avoiding the pockets of conflict between the rebels and Lucifer's forces. Easier said than done. Then he needed to find Sam.  
His best shot at finding his brother were The Angels. His best shot at finding The Angels were the rebels in Pontiac. Everyone knew that The Angels had been supplying the rebels with guns, ammo, food and equipment to better their defences. If anyone could put him in contact with The Angels the Pontiac rebels could.  
Package, Pontiac, Angels, Sam.  
Dean sighed deeply. He was suddenly grateful for his military training. It would undoubtedly come in useful.  
Dean had swore to himself after the war that he would never kill another human. He had taken so many lives, innocent and guilty, that he knew his soul was tainted. He couldn't escape the horrors he had committed but he sure as hell wasn't going to add to them.  
A small voice in the back of his head warned him that he may have to break his promise but he shoved the thought away and focused on his hands.  
He lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. He knew sleep wouldn't come but it didn't hurt to try.  
***  
The journey so far had been relatively easy. He had been stopped at the border of Iowa but after flashing his travel permission form and military ID, he had been allowed to pass with no questions asked. He had managed to pass through several towns and cities without any trouble.  
It surprised him to see how normal life was, especially in some of the larger cities. Men and women went to work, children went to school, people were walking their dogs, hanging out washing, retrieving mail. It was as if nothing had changed after the war. The only reminder of how different things were was when Dean caught a glimpse of the perimeter fence through the buildings and had to stop at the gates under the scrutiny of guards every time he came and went.  
The Impala hummed merrily, headlights on full beam, as Dean tore down Route 80. There were no other cars on the road so he felt safe enough to push the Impala past 100mph. He had managed to tune the radio into Angel Radio some time ago with Charlie's help and he listened absently as he tried to focus on the dark road ahead.  
Tuesday seemed like weeks ago. Dean couldn't believe that it had only been four days. The raw pain in his chest had only gotten worse since the added pressure of delivering the package.  
He regretted taking the deal. Of course he did. There had been a moment, before finalising the deal, where Dean had wanted to back out, to decline and just look for Sam without the permission form but Crowley had managed to play on his desperation to find Sam. Crowley had talked about the benefits of the form. He had insisted that Dean would find his brother faster with it.  
Dean had crumbled and shook hands with the Head of State. Now he had a deadline of... nine days to get to Chicago, find the Offices and deliver the package to Alistair or face the consequences.  
He didn't want to think about how he was aiding Lucifer, how he was betraying his country. It was selfish of him, he knew this but he had thought Sam was dead and after five years, finding out that he wasn't...  
Dean turned the volume of the radio up a little and the current host, Rachel, was describing the situation in Kansas. Apparently The Angels had sent a force over and were battling to take control of Wichita. Good, thought Dean. If The Angels managed to take Wichita, they might be able to regain most of the state. The Kansas Offices were in Wichita and getting rid of the Head of State would definitely better The Angels chances of getting one up on Lucifer. Dean just hoped that Lawrence didn't get caught in the cross fire. After he had found Sam, he quite liked the idea of returning home and visiting his parents graves.  
Dean felt his eyelids getting heavy and he decided to stop in the next town to get some rest.  
***  
Dean felt suddenly wide awake as he pulled up to the gate out side of Davenport. Something was very wrong here.  
State Officers lined the fence, heavily armed. Each one was flanked by perimeter guards. It looked as if they were waiting for orders.  
Dean peered through the mesh. The buildings he could see were falling apart. Huge mounds of rubble barricaded the street. An eerie silence had settled over the night.  
A tall, beefy State Officer marched over to the Impala and rapped on the window. Dean wound it down and gave the man a curt nod.  
"No one passes through. The city is on lockdown, awaiting punishment for hiding and aiding rebel forces," the State Officer grumbled.  
Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel.  
Before the State Officer could order him away, the wrought iron gates swung open and a squad of guards marched through.  
Dean saw his opportunity and hammered the accelerator. The Impala lurched forwards, scattering the guards.  
Ignoring the angry shouts of the State Officer and the bullets ringing off the side of his car, Dean weaved through the street and sped out of range. He didn't know what he was doing. He knew he couldn't help these people but the soldier in him had taken over.  
He parked the Impala down a side street and clambered out to inspect the damage.  
Several neat bullet holes dotted the left side and back.  
"Shit," Dean cursed under his breath.  
He had inherited the Impala after John had died. He was glad his father couldn't see his beloved car now.  
"SHIT!" he exclaimed again, remembering that the package was in the trunk.  
Dean flung it open. His duffle bag had a bullet hole. The rifle and ammo box were untouched as was the package. Thank God!  
Dean let out a shaky breath of relief.  
Now what to do?  
He shouldn't be here, he should get out now before whatever punishment the Iowa Head of State decided upon happened.  
But he couldn't bring himself to abandon these people. Not after he had abandoned Sioux Falls. Not after he had abandoned Bobby.  
Guilt clawed at him. He would stay here and help where he could, he decided. He still had time.  
Dean left the Impala and headed towards the city centre on foot. The outskirts of Davenport were empty of people but as he traveled further in he could see the shadows of frightened faces watching him from shattered windows and from broken doorways.  
Dean paused as an all too familiar noise hummed in the distance.  
Blades!  
Blades were the streamlined fighter jets used during the war. Their main purpose was to carry bombs over enemy lines and drop them on selected targets. The bombs created a crater nearly 5 miles wide in each direction. Dean had seen the devastation the bombs could cause first hand. He couldn't believe that this was how Davenport was to be punished.  
He sprinted to the nearest house and banged on the door.  
"IS ANYONE IN?! PLEASE!," he yelled.  
A middle aged Asian woman in a floral printed dress slid the door open a fraction.  
"What do you want?" she asked suspiciously.  
"You are all in danger! Everyone must get below ground! I don't know how long we have! Please, I need help telling as many people as possible!" Dean said in a rush.  
The woman stared at him blankly before what he was saying sunk in.  
"We have a basement," she offered.  
"No, it needs to be... Like a ware house basement or department store basement..?" Dean was hopping on the spot trying to contain his fear and nerves.  
"There are several stores nearer the city centre," she tilted her head at him.  
"Good, great! Tell as many people as you can! The State Officers mean to blow up most of the city!"  
Before the woman could respond, a head appeared by her shoulder.  
Her son, Dean assumed. They had the same eyes and same nose. His hair draped over his eyebrows and he wore a loose shirt. Must be around 18, 19? Dean thought to himself.  
"Mom?" the boy didn't take his eyes off Dean.  
"Kevin," she flashed him a small smile, "this man is warning us about our 'punishment'. We have to help him get as any people as possible below ground."  
"And you believe him?" Kevin asked sceptically.  
"Look," Dean frowned, "if we don't hurry, hundreds of people are going to die-"  
He was cut off by a loud noise over head.  
"GET DOWN!" Dean threw himself forwards as the distant whistling of a bomb ended in a bone shattering explosion.  
Dean fell on top on Kevin and his mother as the aftershock rippled over them. Luckily the bomb was far enough away not to effect them but Dean knew that it wouldn't be the last.  
A second tremor through the ground told him that a second bomb had been dropped.  
"Inside," Dean hauled himself up, adrenaline pulsing through his veins, and he pushed the civilians into their house.  
Kevin helped him bundle Kevin's mother through to the kitchen and down into the basement.  
"I'm Dean by the way," Dean said, trying to bring some normality back to the situation.  
"KevinTran," Kevin settled his mother down beside the washing machine.  
Dean looked at Mrs Tran for a moment before his military brain kicked in.  
"We need to block the windows and gaps above and under the door," he turned to Kevin.  
"With what?" Kevin threw his hands up.  
"Sheets, towels, tee shirts, a cat, anything!" Dean yelled.  
Kevin dove into the dryer and pulled out a bundle of clothes. Dean tore an armful from him and jogged back up the wooden steps to ram material into the gaps around the door. He was dimly aware of reaching up and Kevin stuffing clothing at the small windows. Mrs Tran just sat in shock.  
Another bomb blast, this time closer. The shock wave rolled over the house knocking Dean and Kevin to the concrete floor. Dean was pretty sure that all the windows upstairs had been blown in.  
He couldn't save everyone but he'd be dammed if he didn't save Kevin and his mother.  
Dean ushered the pair into the cramped space under the stairs and pressed himself against them. He was surprised with how well Kevin was handling everything. He seemed calm and willing to do what Dean told him but, after many years at war, Dean could recognise the slight wisp of fear behind Kevin's eyes.  
The bombs were raining hard and fast now. Dean could feel his heart pound with every blast.  
"So, Dean," Mrs Tran said softly, "what brings you to Davenport?"  
Dean laughed shakily. Kevin just rolled his eyes.  
Dean seriously thought about giving them a truthful answer but before he could say any thing the force of a near by bomb ripped through the house, ripping apart the walls. The ceiling of the basement cracked and as the wood splintered, the last thing Dean heard was Mrs Tran screaming.


	6. A New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this chapter took so long but I've had a few issues at home and didn't have as much time as I would have liked to write. I hope you are enjoying my story

There was a high pitched ringing in his ears. Dean blinked his eyes open. His vision was bleary and took a frighteningly long moment to focus. He shuffled slightly, dislodging the plaster, dust and wood blanketing him. He became painfully aware of a large gash on his left leg and could feel the thick, hot blood oozing all over his jeans.  
Dean was trying to work out what had just happened. His mind was foggy and he was sure he must have bashed it. He rolled over onto his right side and saw the buried mass of Mrs Tran. Everything came rushing back.  
He forced himself up, hissing in a breath as he put weight on his wounded leg, and slid over to her side. Mrs Tran's eyes were closed, her face was pale. Little cuts flecked her cheeks and a large purple bruise was forming at the base of her neck. He gently brushed away the debris covering her and pressed his ear to her chest.  
She was breathing and her pulse was strong. Dean noticed that her right arm looked broken. The unnatural bulge under the skin just below the elbow and the swelling were clear signs. He reached tenderly underneath her and, with difficulty, managed to check her back for spinal injuries. Concluding that there were no obvious problems, Dean carefully rolled Mrs Tran into the recovery position, trying not to damage her arm more. He then looked about for Kevin.  
The teen was curled up in a tight ball, arms wrapped over his head, still tucked under what was left of the stair case.  
Dean shifted himself next to him and when the boy didn't respond to his voice, he stabbed him hard in the knee.  
Kevin lifted his head and settled blank eyes on Dean. Kevin hadn't escaped the blast unscathed. A long thick cut ran the length of his face, narrowly missing his right eye. Fragments of wood jutted out from the torn flesh and a steady stream of blood made its way down and disappeared under the shirt collar.  
Dean brushed his thumb lightly over the gash, knocking the splinters out. Kevin winced every time Dean's hot skin touched his damaged face.  
"Mom..." Kevin managed to whisper.  
Dean looked back at Mrs Tran and recoiled at Kevin's stricken moan. The teen rushed to his mothers side and bent over her. Dean was sure that the shudders running through Kevin's body weren't pain related.  
Dean lifted his heavy head and took in the damaged basement. The four walls were scarred with cracks and several bricks had been shaken loose which now littered the floor. The ceiling on the stair side of the room had collapsed. Chunks of plaster, lumps of concrete, shards of wood, loose pipes, battered counters, half of a table, fragments of porcelain, chips of glass, various cutlery and parts of the fridge created a spreading mound.  
Dean decided that they were all very lucky to survive the bomb attack. A sudden thought struck him. What about the Impala? Had she survived? Dean really didn't want to explain to Alistair that he had lost the package due to his own righteousness.  
Fear caused bile to rise in his stomach. Worry about it later, he tried to tell himself, focus on keeping Kevin and his Mom alive. But he couldn't shake the growing cloud of despair.  
Movement from Kevin tore Dean from his thoughts. The teen had left his mother's side and was now half way up the crumbling stairs.  
"What-?" Dean started but he was cut off by a harsh shush.  
"Can you hear that?" Kevin stared at him.  
Dean narrowed his eyes. He hauled himself to his feet and strained his ears.  
"Hello?!" Kevin shouted, "We're down here! Help!"  
Now Dean could hear it. The voices. The pattering of feet.  
"Help!" he added his lungs to Kevin's.  
There was a crashing from above them then thumping feet.  
"Down here!" Kevin hollered again.  
A round, stubbled face appeared in the gap where the door used to be.  
"Kevin?" it said.  
"Chuck! Thank God!" Kevin leant against the wall for support, "my mom, she's injured."  
Chuck gave a sharp nod and disappeared for a moment. He reappeared with a strong, well built young man who seemed familiar to Dean and blond, rosy cheeked girl who was hovering at his side.  
The young man lowered himself onto the rubble and proceeded to march over to Mrs Tran. He jerked his head for Dean to help him.  
Dean scurried to him and scooped up Mrs Tran's legs.  
"I'm Dean," Dean mumbled as he manoeuvred himself round and followed the young man's lead.  
"Henry," the man said grimly. The look he wore told Dean that he had fought in the war. Dean recognised the face of someone who had seen too much, but that wasn't why he found Henry familiar. There was something else about this man. Something he couldn't place.  
"Becky, make yourself useful and help Kevin out of there," Chuck's scolding tone seemed to have no effect on the blond swooning at his shoulder.  
Becky seemed to be oblivious to the devastation surrounding her. She only had eyes for Chuck and the man seemed to resent it.  
Ignoring her, Chuck leaned over the mound of destroyed kitchen and grasped Kevin's hand firmly. Kevin had already made progress on unsteady legs most of the way up the mound. The rubble shifted beneath him as he closed his fingers around Chuck's wrist and as Chuck pulled him to the safety of the hallway carpet, a few bits of debris tumbled to the basement floor.  
Dean tried to keep his breathing steady as Henry started to climb the mound, supporting Mrs Tran by hooking his arms under hers.  
Dean tightened his grip on the unconscious woman's ankles and placed an unsure foot onto a solid looking slab of concrete. A few wobbles here and there, a few forced pauses as bits of the debris underfoot shifted but, Henry and Dean managed to carry Mrs Tran out of the basement.  
Dean's heart was racing and a cold sweat ran down his face.  
Henry gave him a sympathetic look and guided Mrs Tran out of the front door and laid her on the chewed lawn, Dean clinging to her legs the whole time.  
"Any more survivors?" Kevin was asking Chuck.  
"Yeah. There are a few families from the rest of the street and some guy who pulled me out of my house," Chuck nodded to a small crowd half way down the demolished street, "as far as we know we are the only ones but there could be more further away from the city centre."  
Dean studied the broken families. Blood and tears and mourning. He left Mrs Tran in the care of Henry and hobbled over to join Chuck.  
"Thanks," Dean tried to flash the ragged looking man a small smile but it faltered and failed on his lips.  
Chuck blinked slowly, taking Dean in.  
"It's Dean, isn't it?" Chuck didn't wait for an answer, "you don't live in this neighbourhood. Why are you here?"  
"I..." Dean sucked in a breath, "I am looking for my brother, Sam Winchester. For five years I thought he was dead but I found out a few days ago that he's still alive. I was just going to pass through Davenport when the perimeter guards stopped me. They told me that you were awaiting punishment and I just sort of..."  
"Wanted to help us?" Chuck chipped in, "You sound like Henry."  
There was a fondness in Chuck's voice which caught Dean by surprise. The last time he had heard such fondness was when Bobby told him he had oil on his forehead. It struck a feeling in him that made him want to run away and cry.  
"Yeah," Dean thumbed his temples.  
"Well I suppose you're stuck here for now so your help will be appreciated," Chuck clapped him on the back. The faintest whiff of alcohol tickled at Dean's nose as Chuck brushed past him.  
Dean watched as Chuck wandered over to the group of survivors with Becky hard on his heals. He found it amusing how Becky kept getting in the way and how Chuck didn't have the heart to tell her to piss off. He guessed that deep down, Chuck liked Becky. Becky definitely liked Chuck. It made Dean sad to see them together. He wandered if he would ever fall in love.  
"Your leg," Henry's gruff voice sounded behind him.  
Dean turned round to get a good look at the not-so stranger. Henry was handsome. His short dark brown hair was oddly neat but his blue suit was rumpled and dusty. Dean thought that he recognised something across Henry's eyes but before he could say anything, Henry had bent down and was examining his leg.  
"Looks nasty," Henry smirked.  
Dean had the sudden urge to kick him.  
"You'll be fine. I reckon you've had worse," the smile had gone from Henry's eyes but not his lips.  
"Yeah," Dean shrugged his shoulders.  
"Where did you fight?" Henry turned his attention back to Mrs Tran and Kevin who was crouched by her side.  
"California mostly," Dean watched as Henry gently pressed along Mrs Tran's broken arm, "but all over the place really."  
Henry nodded as he assessed the damage and didn't meet Dean's gaze when he asked, "what side?"  
Dean drew back a little, the beginnings of a protest rising in his throat.  
"What does it matter?" he managed to say, "it's over now. I'm not proud of the things I've done but I've tried to put it behind me. I have to focus on now. On getting to Sam."  
Henry just nodded again. At least he respects me enough not to push, Dean thought.  
"You said that your name is Winchester?" Dean was surprised by the sudden change of subject. He blinked conformation.  
"Are you related to John?" Henry asked casually.  
"I'm his son," Dean said defensively.  
"Huh," Henry went back to inspecting the broken arm.  
"What?" Dean snapped.  
Before Henry could reply, a stream of gunshots echoed off the remaining buildings.  
Screams erupted from the survivors as a horde of guards and State Officers marched towards them.  
Henry tensed by Dean's feet.  
Dean rushed through the scattering survivors and waved to get attention.  
"We have a woman here! She is badly injured! Can you-" he was cut off as a gunshot rang out and a bullet thudded into his right shoulder. The force knocked Dean backwards.  
He lay on the pavement clutching the wound, blood spilling through his fingers. A shadow fell over him, blocking out the mocking sun.  
Rough hands hauled him to his feet. The pain shooting through his shoulder threatened to steal consciousness from him. He blinked rapidly at the bristly face peering at him.  
"Yep! This is the one from last night!" bristly face called over his shoulder.  
"Lucky he didn't get himself killed though, it would have served the fucker right!" Dean couldn't pinpoint the new voice.  
Bristly face leered at him.  
"Don't know who you are. Don't care. Leave. This doesn't concern you. We have unfinished business here."  
Hands released Dean and he slumped to his knees. Bristly face strode past him. As much as he wanted to run back to the Impala, Dean couldn't leave these people to their 'fate'.  
Dean scrambled to his feet.  
"Hey!" he rasped at bristly face's back.  
The State Officer spun round to receive a left hook. Blood spurted from his nose and mouth. Dean was sure that he had rattled teeth.  
"You've punished these people enough!" Dean shouted at the horde.  
Several guns were pointed at him but no one took the shot.  
"Their homes are destroyed. All they have left is each other. What is the point in killing every single survivor? Enough blood has been shed," Dean tried to reason.  
His heart hammered against its cage and his legs shook.  
"Please," he looked back at the cowering survivors, "please."  
A short, stocky State Officer with tanned skin and a sawn-off pointed at the ground approached Dean with a hard expression on his face. Dean forced himself not to flinch when the State Officer put a hand on his left shoulder and squeezed gently.  
Dean didn't have time to react as the State Officer lifted the sawn-off and fired a round into the crowd of survivors.  
"NO!" Dean punched the State Officer in the jaw, "BASTARD!"  
The survivors screamed as the horde open fired.  
Dean felt a hand on his back and was about to retaliate when he realised it was Henry.  
"You've got to get out of here," Henry dragged Dean from the chaos and lead him round the back of what was left of the Tran household.  
"But... Kevin? And his mom?" Dean stopped dead. Well, almost. He was swaying on unsteady legs.  
"There is nothing more you can do for them. Don't worry, I'll see that they are safe. What you tried to do for us, hear, today, won't be forgotten. I'll make sure of it," Henry grabbed his wounded shoulder and pressed hard.  
Dean yelped in pain.  
"Pull yourself together soldier! I wasn't there for your father when it counted but I'm sure as hell going to see that you live through this," Henry snarled.  
Now Dean understood. He knew why he recognised Henry. The pictures of John's squad that Bobby had shown him. Henry had been the man on Bobby's right.  
"Henry..." Dean choked.  
"Go Dean. Find your brother. Good luck," Henry turned to rush back into the carnage leaving Dean alone.  
It took Dean a moment to figure out which direction he had parked the Impala before running as fast as his injured leg would allow him. He tried to ignore the screams and cries behind him as he wove his was through piles of rubble and debris.  
The damage to Davenport had been catastrophic. Any survivors wouldn't survive long. Most of them would be mowed down by the guards and State Officers. Those that they missed would either die of injury or starvation.  
Dean felt sick as he saw the building which he had parked the Impala behind. It's roof had caved in and three of the four walls still stood.  
Dean sent a silent prayer up to heaven as he rounded the corner. He almost collapsed with relief.  
There sat the Impala. A little dusty but none the worse after the bombing. Luck was on his side.  
He flung open the boot to check on the package. It was where he had left it.  
Ok, he thought to himself as he hopped in behind her wheel, get out of Davenport, find a motel, patch self up, Chicago, Pontiac, Angels.  
Dean paused for a second. He had the unnerving feeling of being watched. He shook himself and told himself not to be stupid.  
Dean fired up the engine and pulled out of the street. He wasn't surprised when there was no one to stop him at the perimeter fence. All the guards must be trolling the city, he guessed.  
As Dean quickly put Davenport behind him, he couldn't help but feel guilty about leaving Henry, Chuck, Becky, Kevin and Mrs Tran. He seemed to be very good at abandoning people.  
But not Sam, his brain growled, I won't abandon Sam.


	7. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long to publish and I'm sorry that it isn't that long either. The next chapter will make up for it in more ways than one i hope.  
> Anyway I hope you are enjoying my story so far. This is the most I've written about anything ever. Please feel free to comment and let me know what's good, what could be improved and if you have any suggestions or ideas, I am open to them.

He had seven days left to deliver the package to Alistair. His thoughts flickered to the consequences if he failed to do so. Why had be made the deal? Why hadn't he just left South Dakota and dealt with traveling issues when they cropped up? Why had he allowed himself to be manipulated into betraying his country and putting his life in danger?  
For Sam.  
Regret was a feeling that constantly played on Dean's mind but he couldn't let himself regret the need to find Sam. Sure, he would be well on his way to finding his brother if he hadn't taken the deal but that was his mistake. He had to clean it up. He would do anything for Sam and Crowley had made this deal apart of that.  
"Fuck," Dean hissed as he pushed a finger into the wound and brought himself out of his thoughts.  
He could feel the bullet, sitting snugly in his flesh, but he couldn't get a firm hold to pull it out. The pain sent waves of nausea rolling through him every time he so much as flexed a shoulder muscle.  
Blood slicked his fingers as he withdrew from the wound and he gripped the table to steady himself.  
The motel room he had managed to negotiate was small and dirty but Dean wasn't complaining. He knew that the owner would alert the authorities of his presence. A man covered in blood would definitely attract the city guards' attention. Dean figured he had about an hour to patch himself up and get the hell out of there.  
He dared to add a second finger as he explored the wound again. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of whisky right now.  
"Dammit!" he cursed as the bullet evaded his grasp.  
He should go to hospital. He needed to go to hospital but Dean didn't want to draw more attention to himself than he already had. Besides, there was no way he could afford the necessary treatment.  
Hospitals and health care were among the services Lucifer had made incredibly difficult to access if you didn't have money. His reasoning being that people are less likely to take risks and rebel if they don't have guaranteed medical care and besides, all those who could afford it were in Lucifer's pocket.  
Dean closed his eyes as he prepared himself for another prod at the bullet.  
He held back a growl of pain as he plunged his fingers back into his tender flesh. He grit his teeth and sucked in air between his lips.  
He could feel it. Cold and hard and nestled against his collar bone. He managed to trap the rim under his nails. With a quick jerk, he began pulling it out.  
He whimpered as the bullet came away in his hand, blood bubbling out of the not-so-neat hole in his shoulder.  
Dean threw the piece of metal across the room before letting out the breath he didn't know he was holding.  
"Okay," he told himself shakily, "just gotta sew it up..."  
He thanked the stars that his Medical Officer during the war had taught him how to improvise stitching up cuts and injuries.  
The motel room had a little sewing kit rattling around one of the dresser drawers. The needle was blunt and thick but it was better than nothing. He didn't trust the cleanliness of the provided thread so had decided to use the unflavoured dental floss kicking about in his duffle bag.  
Dean threaded the floss through the needle eye then flicked open the lighter his Dad had left to him, and held the tip of the needle over the flame. Sweat broke out along Dean's brow as he lifted the glowing metal to his shoulder.  
With a quick count to three and a shaking hand, Dean stabbed the needle into his skin. The sound he made was inhuman. He stitched the wound closed and tied the floss off. It was messy but it would hold.  
He threatened to pass out a couple of times as he cleared up as much of the blood as he could then shrugged on his tee shirt.  
Dean sat down on the edge of the bed a little light headed. He had been through worse he told himself. A bullet wound was nothing.  
***  
Six days remaining and Dean had crashed in a motel a town or two over. He hopped that sleep would help but the much needed forty winks eluded him.  
Instead he found himself staring up at a busily decorated ceiling and worrying over how much money he had left.  
Not enough, it seemed. Working in a cafe only earned you so much. Dean had spent most of what he had saved up on food, gas and motel rooms. He had had just enough to pay for his current accommodation.  
Sleeping in the Impala was an option he supposed. He could survive without food until he hit Chicago.  
Dean turned over to face the door. His shoulder gave a stabbing protest of pain but he welcomed it. The pain reminded him he was human.  
***  
Five days left and Dean had been wrong. So very very wrong. How could he have thought that he could survive so long without eating? He knew himself better than that.  
Traveling had been very slow, between his shoulder giving him trouble, the niggling hunger in the pit if his stomach and the crazy traffic jam approaching Peru.  
Dean was now sat in a shabby diner, tucking into a cheese burger and fries. It had been such a long time since he had tasted anything so good. His waitress had given him a free soda because he was "a real cutie-pie" and his budget allowed him to gorge on a slice of steaming apple pie too.  
He was happy.  
No more spending until Chicago, he warned himself.  
Dean watched a pair of guards waltz into the diner and take a booth by the window. He wandered what made them so happy but didn't have to wait long as they both began talking loudly enough for everyone to hear.  
"Yes, it's true," one of them chuckled, "Lucifer managed to thwart The Angels attempts of securing LA. The Angels that weren't killed or captured are scattered and on the run."  
Dean furrowed his brow and tried to concentrate on his meal. The Angels had pockets of rebels all over the place. Sooner or later they would try for LA again.  
He felt another twinge in his shoulder and again he tried to ignore it.  
***  
Four days remaining and Dean was in trouble.  
As if the burning pain in his shoulder wasn't a clear enough sign, he also had a raging fever to boot.  
The bullet wound was infected and Dean was terrified. Terrified of dying, terrified of abandoning Sam, terrified of the pain and torture still to come which he had seen take many a life during his service in the war. Infected injuries were the second biggest killer during those twelve years, after the soldiers blasting each other apart.  
He hadn't traveled very far. He was stopped at a gas station in Ottawa, head on the steering wheel, trying to build up the motivation to fill up the Impala. He was dimly aware of several people watching him and was sure that, if he didn't get out of the car soon, someone would come to check on him or alert the city guards.  
Dean spilled from the Impala in an ungraceful mess of flannel shirt and tatty jeans. He paused by the pump, trying to control his shaking hands and trying not to decorate the concrete with the contents of his stomach.  
His shoulder screamed in pain every time he moved. He felt woozy and light headed. Sweat slicked his forehead and neck.  
Dean tried not to draw attention to himself which was a weird thought because everyone was looking at him anyway. His vision swam. His brain hurt. His...  
"Hey there. Are you ok?"  
He jumped as a deep voice sounded behind him. The voice was oddly familiar but Dean put it down to the fact that he was becoming delusional.  
He turned round slowly and looked the stranger in the eyes.  
"No," he rasped.  
The last thing he saw before passing out were hands stretching out to catch him and a pair of liquid blue eyes.


	8. Blue Eyes and A Trenchcoat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. If you are still with me at this point I have to thank you for being so patient. This chapter is dedicated to tumblr user fallencrowley who gave me the kick up the backside I needed to write and publish this chapter.

The first time Dean came back into bleary-eyed consciousness, he was on the back seat of his Impala. The smell of warn leather was oddly soothing.The vibration of the engine shook Dean's bones, intensifying the pain pulsing from his shoulder.  
He managed to turn his head enough to catch a glimpse of the messy black hair belonging to the driver before slipping back into darkness.  
***  
The second time Dean became aware of his surroundings, he was in what looked like a hospital room. It was clean and white and neat. A gentle breeze came from the air-con. The steady beeping of a heart monitor to his left and the uncomfortable IV in his arm confused him. How did he get there? Black hair must have taken him.  
He suddenly realised that he couldn't feel his right arm. For a horrifying moment, his muzzy brain convinced him that it had been amputated. It wasn't until he actually looked that his thoughts cleared enough to be rational. His arm was still there. Pale and dead but attached to him.  
It was weird. He could see his arm, he knew what it should feel like to have use of it but it was numb. He couldn't move it. How funny would it look if he were to try and wave it around?  
Dean decided that the morphine in his drip was effecting him so he tried to shut his brain up and closed his eyes.  
***  
Dean wasn't sure how long he had been asleep. The lack of a window and clock gave him no indication of what time of day it was. The heart monitor was gone.  
He sat up slightly and took in the room.  
Now he had a clearer mind and was more rested, the room looked less like a hospital and more like a converted store room.  
There were brackets on the opposite wall showing where shelves used to be and a few cardboard boxes rested in the corners of the room.  
Part of Dean's mind realised that he must be underground but before the rest of his brain could catch up, he was distracted by loud voices coming from outside the room. He could see shadows in the frosted glass of the door. He became very still and strained to hear the conversation.  
"But why did you bring him here?"  
"I couldn't just leave him!"  
"Yeah but, y'know. A hospital might have been more adequate!"  
"Gabriel, don't you know who he is?"  
"Cas-"  
"Dean Winchester! I found Dean Winchester!"  
"Jesus Christ Cas! You're still chasing the Winchester case? I thought Michael told you to drop it!"  
"He did but-"  
"And what do you think he'll do when he finds out you disobeyed an order?"  
Dean missed the mumbled answer.  
"Look, I get it, okay? You care too much. You always have. I've got your back. So does Balthazar but I don't know how much longer you'll be able to defy Michael and get away with it. We won't be able to protect you forever Cas, especially against Michael."  
"I know, it's just that this feels important for some reason, reuniting Sam and Dean. I can't explain it."  
"Not to me but you'd better come up with something to appease our leader."  
Dean heard footsteps then silence.  
He was sure that 'Cas' was still standing outside his door. He didn't know whether to call out or stay quiet.  
Dean froze as the door slowly clicked open and 'Cas' walked in.  
Dean's breath caught in his chest. The man who strode into the room was just a few inches shorter than Dean himself and he was a stunning sight to behold.  
His jet black hair was tousled and begging for a mussing up. His skin was tanned and flawless. Two bluer than blue eyes sparked from under long lashes. A concerned line etched his pale lips and a five o'clock shadow grazed his chin.  
He wore a smart black suit which was unbuttoned to revel a backwards blue tie on his white shirt. A tan trench coat was slung over his left arm.  
Dean swallowed hard. His eyes met blue as the man flashed him a small smile, causing Dean to melt into the sheets. Castiel paused at the foot of the bed.  
"Awake I see," he hummed.  
That voice. Dean's brain slowly started connecting the dots.  
"You- you're Castiel. The Angel?" Dean blinked rapidly.  
Castiel tilted his head slightly as if pondering Dean.  
"I, eh, heard you, outside, talking with, with Gabriel," Dean managed to splutter.  
The Angel narrowed his eyes. Dean's stomach churned. Why was he unraveling like this before a complete stranger? Dean always kept his shit together, now he was acting like a teenage girl.  
"I saved you," Castiel perched himself on the edge of the bed, draping the trench coat over his knees. Dean had to resist the urge to touch Cas' hand.  
"Thanks?" Dean shook himself firmly. Pull yourself together, he scolded.  
"Sam wants you to find him," Castiel said bluntly.  
"I know," the low rumble of the Angel's voice was doing things to Dean. It was all he could do not to squirm.  
"I will help you, if I can," the promise shone in Castiel's eyes. He meant it, Dean had no doubt about that.  
"Why?" he shuffled himself up so that he was eye level with Cas. Equalising the playing field so to speak.  
"As an Angel, I am supposed to help people. Reunite them, give advice, provide support," Cas was giving the wall the attention of his crystal blue eyes.  
"But Michael-?" Dean started.  
"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" the intensity of Castiel's sudden stare pinned Dean down.  
Dean nodded.  
"I feel that Michael has lost vision of our mission. He has become obsessed with beating Lucifer. He forgets that we are supposed to put the people first. I know that I'm supposed to follow his orders but I have questions, I have doubts..." Cas looked away again.  
A sharp pain tugged at Dean's heart. He tried to reach out to give the Angel a reassuring touch but the protesting pang in his shoulder halted him in his tracks. His grimace of pain didn't go unnoticed and Cas leaned over to fiddle with the IV.  
"Why are you telling me this?" Dean breathed, leaning back.  
Cas gave a slight shrug.  
"Since the broadcast and Sam's message, I've been trying to track you both down," Castiel changed the subject.  
"Finding you was easier than I thought. Balthazar got to you first and he followed you into Davenport but he lost you after the bombing. I am starting to close in on your brother but he seems to be so wrapped up in Lucifer's domain that I'm finding it hard to get a pin point on him," Castiel rambled.  
So Dean was right. He had been watched in Davenport. He could feel the morphine start to kick in so decided to lighten the conversation a little.  
"So is Castiel your real name or...?" he mused.  
Cas narrowed his eyes again but this time in a more playful gesture.  
"No," he said, "my real name is Jimmy Novak. I'm from Pontiac, Illinois and I lost my wife and daughter in the war."  
Stupid Dean. Stupid, stupid Dean, Dean howled inwardly.  
"Michael found me in a bad way and he took me in," Cas seemed unphased by the statement, "Castiel is my Angel name. Gabriel and Balthazar are also Angel names. We are given a new name to protect any loved ones we leave behind before joining Michael. When my family died, Jimmy died with them. I became Castiel."  
Dean understood. Cas had left everything behind him and was focused on the now. Grieving over lost family no longer played a part. It seemed hard but Dean almost admired it. Instead of letting his past cripple him, Cas had moved on. Maybe Dean should take a leaf out of his book.  
"I'll leave you to get some rest," Cas rose to his feet.  
Dean had to force himself not to protest.  
The Angel strode swiftly out of the room leaving Dean confused and alone with his thoughts.  
There was something about Castiel, there had always been something about him, ever since Dean had started to listen to angel radio.  
Cas was handsome, no doubt about that. He was a soldier.  
Just my type, Dean thought bitterly. No! Why did he have to do that? Bring those memories to surface?  
Dean had felt something for Castiel. He had only ever felt that way about another man once before. He closed his eyes trying to force the memory away but to no avail.  
It had been hot. One of the hottest months of the war. He had been patrolling. There was one other Private with him.  
Benny Laffite. Dammit.


	9. Of Other Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback

The sun spilled through the leaves creating golden pools on the forest floor. Plumes of ferns and carpets of moss, all lush and green in the still air.  
All was quiet and peaceful, until Dean tromped through the undergrowth in his standard issue army boots with a rifle slung over his shoulder.  
It was stupid, he thought, that he was sent out to patrol the forest trails alone. Especially when enemy troops had been spotted in the area.  
He wanted to be back at camp with Sam. He wanted to be preparing for the assault on the enemies base. He wanted anything other than to be scouting the woods.  
Dean paused by a gnarled oak and swept the area with cautious green eyes.  
He swore he saw a patch of scrub wobble. A second later a small bird erupted from the leaves and into the air with a screech.  
Dean froze as he studied the undergrowth again. He very slowly crouched behind the oak.  
As he receded behind the trunk a shot rang out and scarred the bark just where his head had been a second before.  
With swift, trained movements, Dean pulled his rifle from his shoulder and clicked the ammo into place. He leaned carefully round the tree, adrenalin pulsing through his veins, steadied the gun and brought his eye to the scope. He rolled his shoulders a little, trying to keep the muscles fluid instead of locking up in fear.  
He took long steady breaths whilst waiting for a moment to strike.  
The loud crack of a twig behind him alerted him to the danger before his other senses.  
He spun round and rolled to the left just as a knife flew towards his face. As Dean scrambled up, his rifle was kicked out of reach. Dean grabbed at the hands hooked under his lapel and brought his knee up into his attacker's crotch. The grunt of pain told him he had hit his target and he spun himself out of the loosening grip.  
His attacker had keeled over. Dean saw a flash of red and just as he was about to kick the young man's face in, he was bowled over and slammed painfully into the roots of the oak.  
Strong hands closed on his windpipe. Dean thrashed and clawed and kicked at the man pinning him down but he couldn't escape the iron hold. His chest started to heave as he gasped, desperately trying to fill his lungs with air. The pain and pressure in his chest was unbearable. His vision began to blur, his attempts to free himself became weaker. He was dying.  
Just like that, the weight pinning him down was gone. He choked and spluttered as he breathed life back into himself. He coughed painfully a couple of times and hauled himself up to a sitting position.  
The man he had kicked in the balls had a knife sticking out of his chest and blood was soaking into the moss. A strangled cry brought his attention back to the other attacker.  
Dean stared at the figure sitting on top of the now dead enemy soldier.  
"What, no thanks for saving your hide?" the figure smirked.  
"What the FUCK Benny?!" Dean managed to yell, "you're supposed to be on the north patrol! What the fuck are you doing here?"  
"I was worried about you," Benny said simply. As he rose to his feet he wiped his bloodied hands on his khaki shirt.  
Dean was grateful, of course he was, but Private Laffitte shouldn't have been following him. Benny had orders. He was supposed to stick to them.  
Dean rubbed his tender neck and scowled at the ground. That wasn't the first time Benny had saved his ass and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.  
***  
As the soldiers stalked along the well trodden path, Dean couldn't help casting glances at his companion.  
Benny's dark eyes and days old stubble gave the man a haunted look, which Dean found to be oddly attractive. The strong jawline and broad shoulders tickled his fancy too.  
It was no secret back at camp that Dean batted for both teams. Sam was constantly teasing him about it.  
Dean was very interested in Benny. His looks, his charm and the way he went from being as cute as a button to scarier than rabid dog in the blink of an eye. Dean had never said anything to his fellow soldier but he was sure the feeling was mutual.  
The way Benny cast him sidelong glances, the way he always seemed to be there to back Dean up, the way he shared his rations even though Dean had scoffed his down already, the way he would recklessly ignore orders because he was 'worried' about Dean. Yeh, Dean was pretty sure.  
A small smile lurked on the corners of his mouth as he matched Benny step for step. Benny noticed and with a twinkle in his eyes, he picked up the pace. Dean sped up to keep in time with him. Again Benny marched faster, almost jogging now and again Dean adjusted his pace to keep up. This continued until the pair were sprinting through the forest, laughing as the narrow path forced Dean to fall behind.  
Dean almost crashed into Benny's back when the broader man slammed to a halt. In front of them was a little cottage.  
It looked as if it had once been a perfect chocolate box kind of place but now had thorns clawing at the crumbled white-washed walls and a lopsided tree poking holes in the roof. A tattered sign was pinned to the scratched door. 'Evacuated' the yellow paint said.  
"What are we doing?" Benny turned to Dean with a scowl, "what the fuck are we DOING??"  
Dean took a step back, to shocked to follow.  
"Why are we fucking running around the woods, acting like two kids with no fucking care in the world when this shit is real?" Benny flung a hand towards the cottage, "when this shit is fucking happening?"  
"Benny I-" Dean tried.  
"No!" Benny turned away, "there was probably a family living here. With children..."  
Dean's heart crumpled as Benny sank to his knees. He remembered what Benny had told him about his own family. A tear escaped down his cheek as he laid a hand on Benny's shoulder.  
Benny rose and pulled Dean into a tight hug. Dean's first instinct was to fight him off but he forced himself to relax and wrapped his arms around Benny. Dean's head rested on the other man's shoulder and he breathed in deeply. Benny smelled like earth. Dean was loosing himself in the crushing warmth of Benny's arms and almost growled when Benny moved to release him.  
Dean stared into Benny's dark eyes and before his brain could stop him, planted a firm, wet kiss on the others lips. Benny tensed in shock but very quickly open his mouth to accept Dean's tongue.  
Every fibre of Dean felt alive. This was much more exciting, much more dangerous than combat.  
Dean pulled away for air. He could feel rather than see Benny smiling. He pressed his forehead to Benny's and sighed.  
***  
Their return to camp was less than welcome. Not because they were holding hands as they wove between the tents. Not because the other soldiers wolf whistled as they strode past. But because they came face to face with their Commanding Officer who marched them into his tent and demanded an explanation as to why Private Laffitte wasn't on the North patrol.  
Dean tried to explain that he would be dead without Benny but their Commanding Officer dismissed him and turned to the other man.  
Dean hovered outside the tent, trying to catch snippets of conversation. He practically jumped out of his skin when he received a sharp tap on the shoulder.  
"Stand to attention Winchester!" boomed a voice.  
Dean spun round, fingers to his temple only to be greeted by his smirking brother and a rather sheepish Garth.  
"Bitch," Dean hissed at Sam.  
"Jerk," Sam countered.  
Dean rolled his eyes with a halfhearted smile.  
"So? Word on the tent row is that you and Benny waltzed in holding hands this evening," Sam narrowed his hazel eyes.  
"None of your business," Dean snarked.  
Sam frowned wearing his bitchy-est bitchface.  
"What?" Dean shrugged.  
"Dean-" thankfully Sam's thousandth lecture was interrupted by Garth who nudged his friend hard in the ribs and waved at someone behind Dean.  
Dean turned to see Benny emerging from the Commanding Officer's tent. The encouraging smile Dean had prepared faltered on his lips as the stoney expression on Benny's face twisted his chest.  
Benny stopped short of Dean, hands in his pockets, eyes avoiding contact.  
"So?" Dean asked, a pit of dread opening in his stomach.  
"I've been re-assigned," Benny mumbled, "To the unit in Colorado."  
"WHAT?" Dean blurted.  
"I'm 'not fit to serve on the front line' apparently," Benny hung his head.  
"When-when do you leave?" the question stuck in Dean's throat. It wasn't fair. They had only just admitted feelings for each other. The next few weeks should have been an exciting journey of discovery and new experiences.  
"Tomorrow morning," Benny grumbled.  
Dean stood in stiff silence trying to process what had just happened.  
"Dean?" Dean wasn't sure who said his name but his brother's firm hand closed on his shoulder so he assumed that Sam was the culprit.  
Dean shrugged him off and glanced up at Benny. He could have kicked himself. Dean Winchester, the man with a come back who didn't know when to shut up when it was good for him, didn't know what to say.  
***  
Months passed, as months do and Dean was perched on the edge of his cot, head in hands.  
Rain pattered off his tent, masking the occasional choked sob coming from him.  
Sam pushed his way into the tent, his Sasquatch height forcing him to duck.  
"Dean?" he breathed softly.  
Dean raised his head to acknowledge Sam's presence but didn't turn to look at him.  
Sam approached him cautiously.  
"You shouldn't keep blaming yourself for Garth's death you know. It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do," he babbled.  
Watching their friend die like that had been horrifying and it had hit Dean hard. Sam kept trying to cheer his brother up but was failing miserably.  
Dean stirred again. Sam noticed a piece of paper folded on the cot beside Dean.  
"Can I?" Sam asked reaching for the paper.  
Dean nodded slowly.  
Sam fumbled a little as he unfolded the paper. A smaller sheet slid onto the cot as he flattened it out. He realised it was a letter and began to read.

Date blah blah  
Location blah blah  
Formal army stuff blah blah

Dear Private Winchester, (here we go, Sam thought)  
I regret to inform you that Private Laffitte was killed in action on 14th October. His squad was ambushed as they made their way to their marking point. I can assure you that he died bravely and most of his squad would not have survived without him. He left a note for you in his tent which I have attached.  
I am sorry for your loss. 

Sargent W. Miller

Formal army stuff blah blah

Sam cast a glance at Dean before picking up the smaller sheet. He slowly turned it over and stared at Benny's scrawl for a moment.

Dean,  
If you are reading this then I am dead and those bastards went through my stuff. I can't say I've enjoyed my time here on earth. A lot of shit has happened and it's been tough. But then I met you and my world improved greatly. I'm sorry I never had the courage to tell that. I've missed you Dean. You are a great soldier, a wonderful brother and a loyal friend. Maybe you and I were never meant to be but I promise you that you will find someone someday. Someone to love and who loves you back just as much as I do.  
I'll see you in the next life, brother.

Benny

Sam could feel himself welling up. For Christ's sake, he wanted to shout. First mom, then dad, then Garth and now Benny? Sam's heart broke for his brother.  
"I can't take anymore hurt Sammy," Dean's small voice broke his inner rant, "don't you die on me Sam. I don't know what I'd do if-"  
"Hey!" Sam cut him off before Dean could get any further, "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully this helps to explain Dean's need to find his brother a little better.  
> Thank you all for reading this far. I hope you're enjoying my story and I can't wait to share the next chapter with you :)


	10. The Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this is a day later than I intended. College work is starting to get crazy and I'm finding that I don't have as much time to write this. I will endeavour to publish a new chapter every Friday. Ok, so I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Please let me know what you think of my story so far and thank you for sticking with me for this long!

Dean woke with a start.  
The cobwebs of the memory still clung to his sleep foggy mind. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and tried to remember where he was.  
The amber light spilling through the frosted glass of the door brought everything back.  
Dean shuffled about under the thin covers trying to warm up his toes. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realised that someone had left a woollen blanket at the foot of his bed.  
He smiled to himself as he imagined Castiel sneaking in whilst he was asleep to put it there.  
Dean wove his fingers into the wool and pulled the blanket up, tucking the edge under his chin. He was already starting to feel warmer.  
A familiar fuzzy feeling invaded his gut and as Dean drifted back into sleep, his thoughts drifted to blue eyes.  
***  
Dean stared at Balthazar. The Angel had to be joking. Please let him be joking.  
Dean had been rudely awakened at about 8 in the morning when the blond British man burst into the room, threw a pair of grey joggers and a baggy tee shirt at him and ordered him out of bed. At least the Angel had the courtesy of turning his back on Dean as he tried to get dressed.  
Dean had struggled with the tee shirt a little as his bandaged shoulder was limiting his movements.  
Once he was done, he cleared his throat and Balthazar whipped round to face him, hurriedly introduced himself and announced that if Dean wanted breakfast, he'd have to join the Angels in the canteen.  
Dread was the feeling that came to mind first. Nerves were a close second. He just stood gaping at the Angel, not knowing what to say.  
"Are you coming, princess?" Balthazar snapped.  
Dean nodded stiffly as his stomach growled. The Angel strode out of the room with Dean scurrying to catch up.  
His bare feet were cold on the marbled Lino floor. The walls of the corridor he was lead down were a cloudy grey.  
Dean couldn't help but notice the way Balthazar's muscles rippled under the tight black V-neck. You are so gay Dean Winchester, his brain mused.  
Balthazar marched down the corridors with confident ease. Dean struggled to keep up in his mind. Right, left, right again, up a flight of stairs, left. Dean’s head hurt.  
The pair didn’t pass anyone else on their travels so Dean assumed they were all probably at breakfast.  
The Angel stopped abruptly before a large double door, causing Dean to slam into his back.  
Balthazar turned on him and looked him up and down with steely eyes. Dean gulped.  
“Don’t speak to anyone unless spoken to. Don’t cause any trouble. Cas is in enough shit without you making it worse,” he growled.  
Again Dean nodded. Balthazar sniffed with satisfaction then pushed the doors open.  
The canteen was a large, clinically white, oblong room with tables smothered in food at the end nearest the door and multiple tables and chairs crowding the centre. Nearly every chair had a smartly dressed, neat man or woman sitting in it. They all turned to look as Balthazar lead Dean over to the food.  
Dean’s stomach howled as he took in the delicious sights and smells. The table was laden with everything from pancakes to grapefruit.  
Balthazar grabbed a plate and nudged Dean to do the same.  
There were so many foods that Dean had never thought he would see again and so many that he had only read about, he didn’t know where to start.  
His stomach told him to have one of everything but his brain argued that his first impression on the Angels shouldn’t be one of greed and gluttony.  
After a little thought and an impatient huff from Balthazar, Dean settled on a pancake drizzled in syrup, a banana and a glass of apple juice.  
Measly, his stomach sulked. Yeah but so much rich food in one go will make you sick, his brain rationalised, and besides, I still have lunch and dinner to go.  
Balthazar pushed him in the direction of a semi-empty table and told him to sit down.  
The disapproving, curious looks from the other Angels as he passed unsettled him a bit. He approached the table with Balthazar at his side.  
Dean’s heart fluttered when he caught Castiel’s eye. The Angel was perched on his seat like a little owl, nose in a book. Cas flashed him a small smile and invited Dean to sit.  
“So how’s the patient?” the woman at the table asked as Dean sat down.  
Dean cast a sideways glance at Balthazar, seeking permission to answer. The blond Angel smirked and gave a slight nod.  
“Ok, I think,” Dean gave his bandaged shoulder a little roll.  
“Good. I’m Anna,” the female smiled. She brushed her flaming red hair out of her eyes.  
“Anna was the one who patched you up,” Castiel blinked softly.  
A shiver went through Dean as he gazed into those thoughtful blue eyes.  
A little laugh sounded from the end of the table and Dean had to peer round Balthazar to see its owner.  
The Angel was slouched in his chair, golden hair tucked behind his ears and a lollipop rolling between his teeth.  
“For fuck sake Gabriel,” Balthazar scowled, “its half eight in the morning.”  
“It’s never too early for sugar,” Gabriel winked at Dean.  
Dean studied Gabriel’s plate with a mixture of disgust and envy. The Angel’s plate was stacked with waffles, drowned in chocolate sauce, sprinkled with marshmallows and topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream.  
“You’re gonna die of a heart attack,” Anna warned, picking at her own bowl of porridge.  
“It’s a better way to go than to be killed in battle or ripped apart by Lucifer,” Gabriel shovelled a mound of his breakfast onto a spoon and stuffed it in his mouth.  
“Don’t let Michael hear you say that,” Anna joked. Castiel flinched and Dean was sure he was the only one who saw it.  
“So, Deano,” Gabriel said through swallows, “how’s the search for your brother going?”  
Dean didn’t know why he was surprised at Gabriel’s question. After all, it was through Angel Radio that he discovered that Sam was still alive. Maybe it was how the Angel seemed to know exactly who he was that threw him.  
“Lucifer got your tongue?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  
His remark earned a hiss from Balthazar and a glare from Anna. It was Castiel who rebuked him.  
“Don’t ever joke like that!” the crack in Cas’ deep voice made Dean’s heart shatter.  
“Oh God! Cas! I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking!” the grin on Gabriel’s face vanished and was replaced by a wide-eyed sorrowful expression.  
Dean was bursting to ask what the hell they were talking about when Balthazar leaned close to him.  
“Last year, Cas and another Angel called Samandriel were on a recognisance mission. They were attacked by Lucifer’s men and tortured for information about Michael and The Angels. Cas was told that if he didn’t talk, they would cut out Samandriel’s tongue. Cas didn’t tell them anything so they followed through. No one is quite sure how they both got out of there. Hell, even Cas doesn’t know, but as they were on the run, Samandriel’s condition deteriorated and Cas had to… ‘put him out of his misery’. He’s never quite been the same since,” Balthazar turned away.  
Dean sat in shocked silence. He had had to do some terrible things during the war. He had seen some terrible things. He had never had to do anything quite like that though. He couldn’t imagine what Castiel had gone through.  
Dean glanced at the Angel with a heavy heart. The man who had rescued him, his blue eyed dark haired peach fuzzed hero, was just as broken as he was. Dean felt the urge to give Cas a hug but he decided that hugging the Angel would be frowned upon so, instead, managed to say, “I’m so sorry.”  
Castiel had obviously been aware of Dean and Balthazar’s exchange and nodded slightly in thanks. No emotion showed on his face, but his eyes brimmed with hurt.  
Gabriel had seemingly lost his appetite and was poking his waffles with his spoon.  
“So…” Anna blurted, trying to change the topic, “Dean. Eh… after the, um, transmission from Sam, Cas picked up your case. He tracked you down, with the intention of reuniting you both.”  
“Yeah, but not by Michael’s orders,” Balthazar sighed.  
“Cas is a little rebel, ‘aint you?” Gabriel’s grin was back.  
Castiel shuffled in his chair a little and looked to Dean.  
Dean was burning with questions. Why did Cas want to help him and his brother? Why was he prepared to defy his leader to do so? How had he found him? Did he know where Sam was?  
Dean bit his bottom lip to stop himself from bombarding the Angel.  
Castiel tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes at Dean. It was as if he was trying to get a look inside his head. Dean found this little trait incredibly cute and rather hot.  
Balthazar nudged him. Dean realised the Angel was giving him permission to speak so he summed up the courage to ask Castiel.  
“Do you know where Sam is?” he managed to say.  
“Not exactly,” Castiel replied, “we know the general state in which he is residing but can’t seem to pin point his exact location. He’s in Arizona at the moment but that could change. A few days ago he was here in Illinois but I didn’t reach him in time.”  
Dean chewed the inside of his cheek.  
“He’s not been easy to track,” Cas continued, “I think it has something to do with Lucifer. I think that the sonofabitch has his claws in him.”  
Dean stilled. Sam working with Lucifer? Obviously not of his own free will. Dean could now taste blood.  
Castiel suddenly sprang out of his chair and beckoned to Dean.  
“Come on,” the Angel had an excited spark in his eyes, “I want to show you something.”  
***  
“We call it the hub,” Castiel cast Dean a sideways glance.  
Dean couldn’t speak. He was standing in the door way to a large, hexagonal room with several doors leading off and a large computing unit in the middle. Several Angels bustled around the screens.  
The walls looked to be made from aluminium and the floors were of a similar nature.  
Dean had never seen anything so high tech and modern in his life.  
“This is the life centre of the Illinois Angel base. There are bases all across the states,” Castiel was looking around proudly.  
Because he was in shock, Dean’s brain couldn’t stop him from blabbering his next comment.  
“Base isn’t very imaginative,” he rushed, “you should have called it heaven. You know? ‘Cause you’re Angels?”  
Castiel blinked at him. Dean shook his head in apology.  
The Angel marched over to one of the screens, his trench coat billowing behind him, and spun it round so he could see it.  
Dean couldn’t quite believe how paper thin the screen was. Castiel tapped and swiped his finger across the glass before pulling up a complicated looking system.  
“I’ve been using the army identification chip in your brother’s arm to track him. It’s the same way I found you. I can narrow it down to a state but then something blocks the signal. I’ve been trying to hack it but every time I get close, Sam moves locations and I have to start all over.”  
Dean was trying to focus on what Cas was telling him, rather than the Angel’s strong jaw line and tousled hair.  
“He’s still in Arizona…” Cas mumbled to himself. More tapping ensued.  
Dean took the chance to look around him again. He noticed very quickly that he was being watched.  
“Erm… Cas?” he said quietly. Interesting, he thought to himself, the nickname just rolled off my tongue there.  
Castiel looked up, not fazed by the use of his shortened name.  
Dean pointed the Angel out. Castiel narrowed his eyes.  
“That’s Uriel,” Cas went back to working on the screen, “most of the other Angels let me get on with my shit and leave me to suffer at the mercy of Michael but not Uriel. From what I’ve been told, he was an amazing soldier. He keeps trying to get me to follow Michael’s orders and stop trying to help you and Sam.”  
Dean studied Uriel closely. He looked muscular, not someone you’d want to get in a fight with. Dean recognised the look the Angel wore. He was a grunt, a machine, built for following orders with no questions asked. Dean had come across many like Uriel during him time in the army.  
“Fuck!” Castiel seethed.  
The curse snapped Dean’s attention back to Cas.  
The Angel put his hands behind his head and sighed deeply.  
“Talk to me Cas,” Dean laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.  
The Angel looked at him with liquid sapphire eyes. Dean’s heart quickened and beads of sweat began to form on his fore head. Cas gave a slight shake of his head and removed Dean’s hand.  
The Angel’s pale lips were all Dean could focus on as Cas studied him.  
“Come on,” Castiel sighed. He sidled past Dean and headed for one of the many doors.  
“Where are we going?” Dean hurried after him.  
“I’ll take you to your car. I’m sure there are a few things you’d like retrieve.”  
Dean smiled to himself. Yep, he would definitely need his clothing from his baby’s trunk and… SHIT!  
Dean froze in horror. He had completely forgotten about the package for Alistair!


	11. Desperation

"Dean? Are you alright?" the concern in Castiel's voice was evident.  
Fuckfuckfuckfuck! Dean screamed inwardly.  
"I'm err, I'm fine," he lied, "Cas?"  
The Angel narrowed his eyes.  
"How, erm... How long have I been, y'know... Here?" Dean rambled through hitched breaths.  
"3 days," Castiel replied with a frown, "why?"  
"Oh, no reason, I was just wondering," Dean had to force himself to keep still. He had one day, probably just less than one day left to deliver the package.  
Dean knew from the expression Cas flashed him, that the Angel didn't believe him.  
He offered a weak smile as Castiel tried to puzzle him out.  
The Angel spun on his heels and marched away up the corridor. Dean jogged to catch up.  
“I want to help you Dean, I want to trust you,” Cas mumbled over his shoulder, “but you’re making it difficult.”  
Guilt spiked in Dean’s stomach. The last thing he wanted to do was to cause the Angel more grief, especially after all Cas had done for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain. More than anything he wanted to spill the glass of burden he carried with him to the Angel. He wanted to be trusted by this beautiful man. Dean already trusted Castiel with his life but, he was scared. Scared of what the Angel would do if he learned of Dean’s betrayal, of the lengths he was prepared to go to find Sam.  
As Dean stewed in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that he had lost sight of Cas. When he finally realised that he was in trouble, it was too late.  
Uriel stood in front of him, blocking his way with his broad form.  
“Where do you think you’re going?” the Angel rumbled.  
“I erm, Cas and I-“ Dean spluttered, trying to subtly retreat.  
“Castiel,” Uriel chuckled, “the fool. Thinking he should help you. He should have left you to die and then carried on following Michael’s orders. Instead, he brought you here to our SECRET base.”  
Dean took another step back as the Angel advanced. He was in trouble. He needed to get out of there.  
“I’m a loyal Angel,” Uriel bellowed, “and I. Follow. Orders!”  
Dean ducked as a huge fist swung towards his face.  
“URIEL!” the angry shout sounded from behind Dean.  
Castiel surged forwards, knocking Dean out of the way and squaring up to the other Angel.  
“Don’t do this Cas,” Uriel warned with a slightly disappointed tone, “Fall back in line.”  
“You may not care anymore,” Castiel growled, “But I still serve the people.”  
Uriel grabbed the trench coats lapel and lifted Cas clean off his feet. He slammed Castiel into the wall. Cas let out a grunt as the wind was knocked from him and he kneed Uriel in the gut.  
By now, their ruckus had caught the attention of the other Angels, and a small crowd had formed. No one was intervening, just watching a battle of wills.  
Fear drove Dean to his feet. If Castiel got hurt because of him he-  
His train of thought was broken as an Angel pushed past him.  
“Enough,” he said, loudly so that he was heard but not loud enough to deafen everyone.  
“Zachariah,” Uriel acknowledged, letting Castiel go.  
The smaller Angel had a bloodied lip but didn’t seem injured. Dean let out a relieved sigh.  
“My office. Both of you. Now,” Zachariah ordered Uriel and Castiel. Both Angels disappeared from view.  
Dean tried to look defiant as the elder Angel turned towards him.  
“What are we going to do with you?” Zachariah tilted his head.  
***  
Dean felt sick with worry. He had been locked in a large room for about two hours now with no sign of Castiel or anyone else.  
Zachariah had told Dean that this room was called the green room. It had a large table in the centre with chairs surrounding it and master pieces of art clinging to the walls. It was a very posh room, like the ones Dean had read about in history books. The gold-leaf edging the furnishings, the half-pillars exposed out of the walls, the lush rug and the marble had a very Victorian feel.  
Dean had knocked one of the angel statues off one of the sideboards to try and get some attention. Its left wing had shattered and its right arm was now poking out of the rug fibres. He felt guilty about it but not enough to try and hide what he had done.  
Time was ticking and as each minute passed, the worry and fear grew. What would happen if he didn’t get the package to Alistair on time? What were The Angels going to do with him? Was Cas okay?  
That last question was the one that bothered him most. Why should he care? he kept trying to tell himself, but something in him was drawn to the Angel. Something that resembled his feelings for Benny, but went deeper and were stronger. He didn’t know Castiel and yet, he was comfortable around him and for some reason, he wanted the Angel to like him.  
Another thing that struck Dean in his solitude, was how Castiel had opened up to him, told him about his family, admitted doubt in his leader. Why had he done that? Did he feel something too?  
Before Dean had a chance to contemplate that last thought, the door to the green room swung open and Zachariah waltzed through with a bow headed Cas following behind.  
Zachariah didn’t say anything at first. He just sat in one of the chairs at the table then folded his fingers under his chin.  
Dean took his chance to gaze at Castiel.  
The Angel was leaning in a corner, hands by his side, head down. Dean wanted to go over to him, to talk to him but the look he received from Zachariah halted him in his tracks.  
“Michael is on his way,” the Angel drawled, “he will deal with you both.”  
Castiel squirmed and wrapped his arms around himself.  
Dean narrowed his eyes and stared down at Zachariah.  
“If you do as you’re told, you won’t get hurt and things will go smoothly,” the Angel adjusted the collar of his grey suit.  
“And if I don’t cooperate?” Dean challenged.  
“Things will be, ah, very unpleasant for you,” Zachariah sneered.  
“And Cas?” Dean tried not to let his voice waver. Castiel looked up with what could only be described as genuine surprise written all over his face. Dean didn’t make eye contact, just glared defiantly at the dickhead in front of him.  
“He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Zachariah said bluntly.  
A firey rage swelled in Dean.  
“You know what? Screw you!” he growled, “I don’t have to do what you or anyone else in this shithole tells me and neither does Cas. Free will douche wad.”  
“Yes he does,” Zachariah rose from his chair and laid hid hands flat on the table, “he swore an oath to serve The Angels and he works for us. Not the people and definitely not you.”  
Dean wanted to pick up the candle stick in the centre of the table and jam it in the Angel’s eye.  
He looked to Cas, hoping that the Angel would defend himself but, Castiel was looking at the floor again, shoulders hunched, defeated.  
“You will remain here until Michael comes,” Zachariah marched towards the door, “Come Castiel.”  
As Cas began to follow, Dean took one last shot in provoking him.  
“I need your help Cas!” Dean almost shouted, “I need to get out of here, I need to find Sam!”  
The Angel held eye contact for just a second before closing the door on Dean.  
“YOU SAID YOU’D HELP ME!!” Dean screamed after him, kicking the door. The wood rattled in its frame but was otherwise unaffected.  
Dean pressed his forehead to the cool wood and tried to ignore the tears streaming down his face.  
“You said you’d help me,” he whispered.


	12. And That's What You Call Ironic

Dean had tried everything to knock the door down. Kicking, shoving, hitting it with the candle stick, nothing even damaged the wood.  
He was now crouched in a corner, head in hands, trying to decide what to do.  
He had a feeling that Michael would be less pleasant than Zachariah and much more terrifying. He didn’t know if he would be able to disobey Michael when faced with the big cheese himself.  
Dean didn’t hear the door open and shut so got a fright when Castiel appeared in front of him.  
Before he could make a noise, Cas had pinned him to the wall and wrapped a hand over his mouth. Dean wriggled a little but when he looked into the Angel’s eyes, he became still. He understood.  
Cas let him go and beckon him to follow. Dean rushed to the door and waited for Castiel to make the next move.  
The Angel pulled the door open and peeked round.  
“Clear,” he said softly. His voice made Dean constrict the muscles in his groin. Now’s not the fucking time, he scolded himself.  
Castiel lead Dean out of the green room and quietly along the corridor. The halls were dark and Dean could only just make out the walls on either side of him, and the tan trench coat in front. He was just glad that Cas knew the way.  
The pair made steady progress, only stopping now and then to duck into a room when the lights flickered on and an Angel marched past.  
Dean was about to ask Cas why the lights weren’t coming on for them when the angel grabbed his arm and pulled him up a flight of stairs. They paused at the top so that Castiel could check if the coast was clear so Dean took his chance and breathed, “Lights?”  
Cas glanced at him over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. “We’re not moving enough,” he mouthed.  
Dean nodded. He had heard about motion censoring lights. He guessed that The Angels saved power by keeping them on a certain setting. Only big enough movements would activate it.  
Convenient, he mused, unless Cas deliberately set it that way before coming to get me…  
Castiel moved off and Dean followed suit, consciously keeping his arms tucked in and his movements small and careful.  
Eventually they came to a large metal, sliding door. Castiel pushed it open and ushered Dean through.  
Dean tripped over in his haste and landed with a thump.  
“Crap!” he cursed as the lights flashed on.  
Castiel groaned then hauled Dean to his feet.  
Dean stared in shock. He was faced with rows upon rows of vehicles. Army trucks, little jeeps, a few motor bikes, a corvette, several vans, a fancy looking Bentley, three campervans, and right on the end of the row he was being dragged down sat his Impala.  
Dean gave a little sigh when he saw her. She had been polished up, bullet holes filled and painted over and when he slid in behind her wheel, found that she had a full tank of gas.  
He was jolted out of his dream-like state when Castiel jumped in and slammed the door.  
Dean froze. That was Sam’s seat. The seat where Sam sat. Sam’s sitting area. The seat of Sam.  
Castiel cleared his throat.  
Dean blinked at him before turning on the ignition. Stop being stupid, he told himself. But Sam’s seat, his heart argued.  
Dean shook himself and reversed out of the row.  
“Over there,” Cas pointed to the wedge of light coming from the slowly closing garage door.  
Dean hammered the accelerator and the Impala raced towards the exit.  
It was going to be close but they could make it, Dean thought as they approached the now half shut door.  
As they sped under the door, Castiel turned and swore at the Angel who was standing in the booth, hammering the close button.  
Dean laughed heartily as the Impala shot out of the base.  
***  
Dean thumbed the steering wheel impatiently. The sun was beginning to set. He was running out of time. Chicago was still 82 miles away.  
He still hadn’t told Castiel anything. Maybe he should have so that the Angel wouldn’t have insisted on stopping to pick up a bite to eat.  
Dean rolled his eyes as Cas came hurrying out of the store with a bag in one hand and box in the other.  
Dean’s curiosity was piqued however when the Angel scrambled into the car and delicious smells wafted from the box he was carrying.  
Seeing Dean’s expression, Cas flashed a grin and held the box out.  
“Pie?” he offered.  
***  
Full and slightly happier, Dean indicated to overtake as they traveled towards Chicago.  
Castiel hadn't asked him any questions yet and he was grateful, if not a little guilty. The Angel was busy fiddling with the radio dial and Dean glanced at him when he stopped at Angel Radio.  
“Cas-?” he started.  
Cas hushed him and tilted his head to listen.  
“…today so be on the lookout,” Balthazar’s British accent filled the Impala.  
Castiel knitted his brows together and narrowed his eyes.  
“They are- I’m not saying that!” Balthazar said indignantly.  
There was a muffled argument and a defeated sigh.  
“They are armed and highly dangerous, shoot… I can’t- All right!... Shoot on sight,” the Angel choked.  
“Thank you Balthazar,” Zachariah’s drawl came, “To recap, a rouge Angel and a mad man are on the loose. Castiel and Dean Winchester are highly dangerous. Send us any information you can-“  
Cas cut Zachariah off by spinning the dial. The Angel leaned back in his seat with an unreadable expression clouding his face.  
Dean didn’t know what to say. He tried focused on the road ahead.  
Castiel fixed Dean with his icy blue stare. It was unnerving. Ignoring it wasn’t an option so he decided to engage the Angel.  
“Cas?” he said warily.  
Castiel sighed, “I considered them my family. I've disobeyed and now they want me dead.”  
“I’m sorry,” Dean consoled.  
“I know,” Cas looked away.  
“I never said thank you, for saving my life. Not really. And now you’ve helped me escape. You’ve left everything behind for me and I just…” Dean’s words stuck in his throat.  
Cas studied him with large sapphire eyes.  
“…why? Why did you save me? You don’t even know me,” Dean rushed.  
Castiel narrowed his eyes, “you don’t think you deserve to be saved.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A statement which Dean didn't have an argument for.  
“I saved you Dean, because it felt right. In the brief time I have known you, I've seen your soul,” the Angel bowed his head, “you’re a broken man. I know because I am too. You don’t know me either, yet you vouched for me in the green room. I feel we are a good match, you and I.”  
Dean gulped. Castiel trusted him completely. There was only faith and loyalty brimming in the Angel’s eyes. Again, Dean’s old friend guilt poked him in the side. In the trunk was a package which would change all that.  
“So, tell me about yourself Dean,” Cas blinked.  
Dean smiled softly at him and proceeded to tell him about growing up in Kansas, about losing his mother in a tragic house fire, about a broken education and a clash of wills between his brother and father, about moving in with Bobby because John’s job took him all over the state, about John and Bobby being drafted, about the long and agonizing year which followed and ended with Bobby returning as a cripple bearing news of his father’s death, about Sam and himself being drafted and about his first day in the army.  
He paused, sneaking a glance at the Angel who was listening attentively. Cas didn’t push him to go on. He just nodded slightly, understanding that Dean didn't want to talk about the war.  
“What about you? Jimmy Novak?” Dean nudged the Angel with his elbow.  
A sad smile brushed Castiel’s lips. Dean couldn't help but notice how soft and pliable they looked.  
Castiel told him little of his life before The Angels and even less of his time with them.  
Dean didn't press for information. Cas would tell him more when he was ready. For now, Dean was just happy his new friend could open up to him a little. He secretly hoped that what he had with Cas would develop into more than ‘just friends’ but he would never admit it to anyone.  
***  
10 miles from Chicago and Dean was starting to relax a little. Maybe he would make it. Maybe he would be able to get the package to Alistair on time and not even have to tell Cas about it.  
The Angel in question was fast asleep, head resting on the cool window. He looked younger when sleeping, Dean thought. All the worry lines were gone and Castiel looked relaxed. Dean had to stop himself from stroking the Angel’s stubbled cheek.  
Stop being so gay Dean, he told himself, the dude had a wife and daughter before the war and all the Angel crap. He doesn’t swing your way.  
The thought was less than pleasing but it did help him to focus more on his driving.  
His eyelids were becoming heavy and he really wanted to pull in to one of the many motels they were passing and get some shut eye.  
But I’m so close, Dean argued, don’t give in now.  
He rubbed his eyes. Not far to go, he told himself, 7 more miles then find the Offices and bring the package to Alistair. Cas is asleep, he’ll never know. And then we can find somewhere to stay for the rest of the night and get back to finding Sam in the morning.  
The traffic was starting to get a little heavier as they got closer to Chicago. The Impala’s clock told him it was 9.30pm.  
He was tired. He couldn't wait to be rid of the package, to have the burden lifted. He rubbed his eyes again.  
As Dean slowed to a stop, a loud honking erupted to his left. Castiel woke with a start and looked around groggily. Dean barely had the chance to swear before a large lorry struck the side of the Impala and rolled her onto her roof. Glass showered Dean as his head banged painfully off the door. The screeching of brakes was deafening. Dean choked against the seat-belt putting pressure on his neck. He shuffled around to bring it to his shoulder.  
Because he was upside down, blood rushed to his head, giving him a headache, or was it the bash? He managed to swing his head round to get a look at his passenger.  
Castiel’s seat-belt had pinged off the wall of the car. The Angel was lying in a trench coated heap on the Impala’s roof.  
“Cas?” Dean croaked.  
Castiel didn't stir.  
“CAS?!” Dean yelled.  
Very slowly, Cas opened his eyes.  
“Dean?” his voice broke.  
Dean noticed that the Angel’s leg was tangled in the seat-belt. The grey materiel was wrapped tightly, probably cutting off circulation. To confirm this Castiel moaned and said, “I can’t feel my leg.”  
Dean knew that if Cas didn't get the circulation back soon, he would lose his leg.  
“Okay, okay Cas? Listen to me. Don’t panic ok? You need to get your leg free, ok?” Dean unbuckled himself and landed heavily on the shards of glass beside Castiel.  
The Angel focused on Dean. The fear in Cas’ eyes caused Dean to dig his nails into his palms.  
“Right, I’m gonna help you,” Dean reached over and grabbed the belt firmly. Castiel yelped as Dean put pressure on his leg.  
“Dean, Dean,” Cas’ breathing was shallow and he sucked the air in through his teeth.  
Dean checked the Angel’s leg carefully.  
“Not broken,” he reassured.  
Again he tried to move the belt but Castiel’s scream of pain was more than he could bear.  
“Hold on. Hold on Cas,” Dean pulled himself from under the car and stood up. He went light headed for a moment. He was dimly aware of the traffic surrounding them and of the smashed up lorry. The only light came from the other vehicles headlights and the sparse streetlamps.  
“Hey! Y’all alright?” a large, stocky man bustled over to him. He had a few cuts and bruises which told Dean that he was the lorry driver.  
“My friend, he’s stuck in there. I need something that will cut through a seat belt,” Dean said quickly.  
“Err I got me some garden sheers in the cab. Those do?” the man asked.  
Dean nodded vigorously and followed the driver to the smashed lorry cab.  
Dean took the sheers and sprinted back to the Impala.  
“I’m here Cas. Its ok,” he mumbled as he slid back in beside Castiel.  
The Angel grimaced as Dean placed the belt between the jaws of the sheers. He hacked at the belt until it split. Dean tore it from Castiel’s leg. Cas whimpered as his leg hit the floor and the blood rushed back into his veins.  
“Dean,” Cas said again.  
“Give me your hands Cas,” Dean ordered.  
Castiel did as he was told and tried not to make much noise as he was dragged from the upside-down car.  
“Ambulance on its way,” the lorry driver told him.  
Dean hardly heard him. He was too busy checking Cas over for injuries. They were both very lucky. A few scrapes here and there. Apart from Cas’ leg, they were both fine.  
Castiel was shaking in shock as Dean looked around.  
He had stopped on a crossroads. The lorry had been going too fast to stop in time. Dean remembered his mother telling him about crossroads when he was little. ‘Crossroads are unlucky’ she would tell him ‘because long ago, that’s where people made deals with the devil’. Among other stories, the crossroads tale was one of Dean’s favorites as a child. Ironic that this had happened now, he thought to himself.  
The sirens of the ambulance cut through the night air. Dean looked up as a medic rushed over to join him by Castiel’s side.  
“His leg,” Dean managed to say as he was bundled aside.  
Castiel recoiled as the medic touched his leg.  
“Can you move it?” the medic asked. His florescent shirt illuminated his young face.  
Cas very slowly lifted his leg off the ground. His breathing was rapid and the little whimpers he let escape showed he was still in pain.  
Dean thought to himself that those noises Cas kept making would have been erotic in a different situation. Dean mentally scolded himself.  
“Not in need of any urgent medical attention,” the medic concluded, monotone. He handed Castiel a bottle of pain killers from the satchel he was carrying and left the Angel in the middle of the road.  
“But-!” Dean tried to stop the medic. He knew that Cas needed more than just pain killers.  
“No. We can’t take him to hospital. He isn't bleeding to death so he doesn't qualify for hospital treatment,” the medic turned his back on Dean.  
The health system is really fucked up, Dean cursed.  
He crouched beside Cas and tucked the meds into his pocket.  
“Can you stand?” Dean asked, hooking an arm round Castiel’s shoulders.  
Cas grit his teeth and curled his fingers into Dean’s leather jacket.  
Dean hauled Cas to his feet. Cas very gingerly put a little weight on his leg. He gasped in pain.  
“It’s ok, just take a minute, you’re doing fine,” Dean encouraged.  
Cas’ ragged breathing tickled Dean’s ear. Castiel clung to Dean for dear life as he tried to put weight on his leg again.  
The sound he made twisted Dean’s heart.  
The lorry driver scurried over. He was red in the face and blowing through his nose like a rhinoceros.  
“I tried to convince the medics to help more but they won’t,” he huffed.  
Dean watched the ambulance speed away as the other cars on the road created a path around them. Bastards, Dean cursed.  
“There’s a motel over there,” the driver suggested, indicating over Dean’s shoulder.  
Dean turned his head to see the cozy, homely looking place just off the edge of the road. He nodded.  
“Cas? Can you make it to that motel?” Dean turned Cas so that the Angel could see it.  
Bravely, Castiel nodded.  
“I’ll help you,” the driver offered, “I’ll even pay for you both to spend the night.”  
“Thank you,” Dean rasped.  
Together, Dean and the driver half supported, half carried Castiel over to the motel.  
The package for Alistair lay alongside the duffle bag and shotgun in the totaled Impala’s trunk, completely forgotten.


	13. Inner Turmoil

Dean rubbed his eyes for the millionth time as he let the checkered curtain swing back into place. He had tried sleeping but his mind wouldn't shut up.  
He glanced over at Castiel from his chair by the window. The Angel was tucked up under the covers of the single bed nearest the bathroom. Only the feathery black of his hair could be seen.  
Dean smiled to himself as he remembered laying Cas down, helping him out of his shoes and trench coat and ordering him to get some shut eye. He liked looking after Cas. He found himself to be strongly protective of his new friends vulnerable side.  
The sun was starting to peek through the gap in the flimsy material covering the window. A knot had formed in Dean's stomach and it was only getting tighter as each hour passed.  
Last night kept replaying in his head. The crash, pulling Cas out if the wreckage, hobbling up to the motel, the lorry driver paying for the nicest room with two single beds available and the overwhelming feeling of having forgotten something really important.  
It wasn't until after checking that Castiel was asleep for the fourth time that he remembered what it was. Dean had hurried out to the Impala, dodging the traffic and opened the trunk. Since the car was upside down, the trunk contents spilled out onto the road. He gathered up the shotgun and ammo, tucked the package into his duffle, slung the bag over his shoulder then made his way back to the motel.  
He wasn't sure what would happen to his Impala. She'll be picked up and scrapped I suppose, he managed to think through all of the worry churning in his brain. It was a sad thought. The Impala was the only thing he had tying him to a life of family and happiness before the war. Many of his happiest memories came from the Impala. His first beer, his first kiss, the hours spent toiling with John to keep her in working order, his first road trip, Sam's first road trip, learning to drive her, moving in with Bobby and shutting Sam in the trunk were among them. Now she was gone, just like everything else that Dean cared about.  
Not entirely true, he thought to himself as he turned his attention back to the Angel.  
The duffle bag and shot gun now lay at the foot of his bed, along with Castiel's coat and several chocolate bars he had managed to 'acquire' from the vending machine outside.  
Dean rose to his feet and paced the room a little. Sometimes pacing helped a man to think but it only managed to add to Dean's agitation.  
Now what? He had failed to deliver the package. His only choice now was to get as far away from Alistair as he could. He also needed to find Sam. He didn't have the first clue on how to do that now that Cas didn't have access to The Angels' computers. Sam's last known location was Arizona. We can start there, Dean decided.  
***  
The motel room was one of the nicest places Dean had ever been. The carpet was lush, the decor was simple yet warm, the kitchen clean, the bedding fresh and comfortable, the bathroom was surprisingly spacious and had eggshell blue coloured walls. Dean had noticed that the closer to a city you got, the nicer the motels seemed to be, not to mention the price rocketed with every mile.  
Dean strode out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped round his waist and almost sprinted back inside again when his eyes met the dazzling blue of the Angel's.  
Castiel smiled to himself as Dean tried to cover his embarrassment with an off hand comment.  
Ignoring Cas' smirk, Dean gathered up some clothes and hurried back into the bathroom.  
He emerged again wearing a green checkered flannel shirt and his favourite pair of jeans.  
He sat opposite Castiel and watched the Angel pick at their appalling breakfast of candy bars and Cheetos.  
Dean bit his lip as he took in his sleepy companion. Castiel's hair was ruffled and his jaw slack with sleep. His stubbled seemed slightly thicker than when Dean first met him. His shirt was rumpled, tie askew. Dean couldn't believe how incredibly turned on he was right now.  
Cas appeared not to notice and continued yawning at his food.  
"How's your leg?" Dean asked, trying to break his invisible tension.  
"Sore," Cas replied simply. He look up at Dean, blinking softly.  
"I'm dirty," he grumbled.  
Dean nodded absently, preparing himself to rush to Castiel's aid if the Angel needed his help.  
Cas limped heavily into the bathroom and closed the door.  
Dean sat very still until he heard the sound of the shower gushing water then sprang onto his feet and grabbed his duffle bag.  
He scooped out all of the clothes, all of the toiletries and placed the package at the bottom. He then proceeded to bury it under his possessions. He couldn't risk Cas accidentally coming across it if he could help it.  
It took him a moment to realise that he was shaking. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. Steady soldier, he quoted to himself.  
The shower stopped and Dean heard Cas curse rather loudly.  
"Cas?" Dean approached the bathroom door cautiously.  
"I'm fine," the muffled voice sounded back.  
Dean flumped himself back down into his seat at the table and rammed an entire chocolate bar into his mouth. He shamelessly let drool slide down his chin as he tried to chew out his frustration. What happened next didn't help.  
Castiel peeked round the bathroom door with a wide-eyed pensive look on his face. Dean wiped his chin with a sleeve.  
"I... Erm..." the Angel began slowly. He pushed the door open wide enough so that Dean could see him.  
Dean nearly spat out his mouthful. Castiel was beautiful, what with his hair plastered to his forehead, his freshly shaven face, strong looking arms, toned chest and flawless tanned skin.  
The fluffy towel covers all the good parts, Dean's dirty thought took him by surprise.  
Dean could see the bruises the seatbelt had left on Castiel's leg. A strange feeling twisted his gut as he stared at the purple-blue blotches staining the Angel's skin.  
"Dean?' Castiel was looking at him in concern.  
Dean shook himself and brought his eyes back to Cas' face, trying desperately hard to ignore his growing erection.  
"Hmm?" he hummed.  
"I don't have any, ah... I need to borrow.... If it's ok...? Some clean, em, clean clothes," the Angel asked awkwardly.  
Dean broke out in a grin. He chuckled to himself as he pulled a tee shirt, boxers and jeans from his duffle bag. He hoped that Cas couldn't see the bulge in his jeans. The Angel was too busy looking at the floor to notice.  
"They may be a little big for you," Dean beamed as he handed the items over.  
"Thank you, Dean," Castiel disappeared from view again as the door swung shut.  
Dean couldn't explain his sudden burst of happiness. Maybe it was Castiel's innocence that got him. Maybe it was just the adorableness that was Cas. Maybe it was the thought of another man wearing his clothes. Maybe it was the fact that seeing Castiel almost naked had made him hard like a friggin teen.  
Stop it right now Dean Winchester, he scolded himself before his imagination ran away with him.  
***  
Castiel folded his trench coat and laid it on top of the other clothing in Dean's duffle bag. Dean had told him that he would have to leave his suit behind, there was no room for it and it was hardly practical, but he had insisted on bringing his coat. Dean had given in. He didn't understand the sentimental value it held for Cas but who was he to take it away.  
The pair had discussed a plan and were now almost ready to hit the road. They both agreed that Arizona was a good place to start. Cas wanted to walk, or hitchhike to Chicago to pick up supplies. There was no way Dean could argue against such a sensible suggestion without revealing his planned betrayal so he had nodded and agreed with a new sense of foreboding building in his chest.  
Castiel turned to Dean on unsteady legs and handed him the duffle bag.  
Dean took it and hooked an arm around the Angel's shoulders. They hobbled out of the motel, thanked the owner and then started along the stretch of road leading to the city.  
Dean noticed that in the few hours since his last check out if their room's window, someone had removed the wreckage of the Impala. All that remained of his beloved car was a wing mirror and a few shards of glass. A hollow pang hurt his heart but it wasn't enough to distract from the other feelings churning in his stomach.  
He was embarrassed by how turned on he was by Cas. He had decided that if he didn't talk about it and if he didn't think about it, then it never happened. Unfortunately, his brain wouldn't let him forget. Every side glance at the Angel brought new and terrifying emotions to the surface that Dean didn't have time to deal with. His attempts at burying them as he always did weren't working.  
Dean and Castiel made slow progress, stopping every now and then to give the Angel a rest. Cas's leg was still really bad and Dean was beginning to worry about him. There was no way they would make it to Chicago by sundown without a ride, and he didn't like the idea of sleeping on the side of the road. He also didn't like the idea of going to Chicago in the first place. Fear gnawed at him with every laboured step, adding to the worry, confusion, frustration and anxiety already threatening to engulf him.  
Castiel limped on with determination set in his expression. He was completely oblivious of Dean's inner turmoil, only glad he had someone there to lean on for support.  
The friends had traveled another hundred yards before Castiel grunted and his knee gave way. He slumped to the gravel, half dragging Dean with him.  
"I'm sorry," he mumbled through gasps of pain.  
Dean squeezed his shoulder and offered Cas the almost empty water bottle he had filled that morning.  
The Angel took it eagerly and gulped down a mouthful or too before handing it back to Dean. As much as he wanted to wet his dry throat, Dean tucked the bottle back inside his jacket pocket and stretched his back.  
Cas had closed his eyes, trying to build up the courage to try standing again, so Dean tried, yet again, to flag down one of the passing cars.  
He was tired. He was hot. He was fed up of those selfish bastards tooting as they drove past but not taking him on.  
A dusty red jeep approached at an alarming speed and Dean had to jump back as hot air whooshed past him and whipped at his clothes.  
To his surprise, the jeep screeched to a stop a couple of yards away and a short woman with long, almost ginger hair clambered out.  
Dean jogged up to her.  
"Hi," she greeted him as he stopped in front of her, "Ya'll need a lift?"  
Dean looked back at Castiel who was watching with narrowed eyes and a tilted head.  
"Please," Dean almost begged.  
"Your friend looks to be in bad shape," she leaned round Dean to get a better look at the Angel.  
"He is," Dean shuffled nervously, another spike of worry flaring inside him.  
The woman regarded him with kind brown eyes, "Ya'll headed to the city?"  
Dean nodded.  
"Al'right. Get in," she opened the passenger door.  
"What about-?" Dean tried to say.  
"Don't cha worry 'bout him," she said looking to Castiel again, "Ash! Get your scrawny butt out here!"  
A young man slipped out of the car and brushed past Dean. He was dressed like one of the guys on the covers of his fathers albums. His ripped jeans and stained top, added to the mullet and goatee made him look like some sort of rock slash hippie wanna be.  
Dean was unnerved by this man and jumped into the beige backseat of the jeep a little more erratically than he intended.  
The blond girl in the front passenger seat took him completely by surprise and it took him a moment to compose himself. She was glaring at him with pursed lips and fiery eyes.  
"Erm..." before Dean could introduce himself, the ginger woman and Ash appeared by the passenger door with Castiel supported between them.  
Dean helped them to lift Cas onto the seat. Dean shuffled as far over as he could go, pulling Cas with him as Ash hopped in, squishing the Angel in the middle.  
Dean felt himself relaxing a little at the close proximity of Castiel. Strange, Dean thought to himself, surely being this close to the man I can't stop thinking about would make it worse.  
The ginger woman slipped in behind the wheel and started the engine. Dean balanced the duffle bag and shot gun on his knee and tried to give Cas what he hoped was a reassuring glance.  
"I'm Ellon Harvelle by the way," the ginger woman said as she pulled out to join the flow of cars, "and this is Jo my daughter and Ash."  
"Sup," Ash grinned.  
Jo turned to look away from Dean. Dean gave a sigh of relief.  
"I'm Dean Winchester and this is Castiel," Dean tried to catch Ellon's eye in the rear view mirror.  
"How's your leg doin' Castiel?" Ellon asked over her shoulder.  
Cas didn't reply, just frowned which Ellon did see in the mirror and she chuckled to herself.  
"Why does your name sound familiar?" Ash drawled next to Cas.  
The Angel shuffled uncomfortably as Ash leaned in closer.  
"He's, eh... We're..." Dean stammered, panic starting to build.  
"Wait!" Jo exclaimed, turning round again to fix Cas with her soul melting stare, "Castiel. You're an Angel aren't you?"  
"Castiel," Ash repeated, "And Dean. Hey! You're both-"  
"On the run. Wanted by The Angels," Ellon finished.  
Dean froze and Cas balled his hands into fists.  
SHIT! he screamed internally.


	14. Dumb and Dumber

Dean was frozen in panic. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say. A cold sweat had broken out on his brow.  
Castiel sat ridged beside him. Unmoving and expression unreadable.   
What know? His brain asked.  
“Relax kiddo,” Ellon chuckled, the rise and fall of her shoulders making her hair bounce.  
“We aint gonna turn you in,” she cast Dean and Cas a glance in the rear view mirror.  
“Why?” the Angel demanded huskily.   
“Cause the world went to shit and I’m sure you’ve got your reasons for whatever you did,” Ellon shook her head slightly.  
Castiel visibly relaxed and Dean felt himself unwind beside him.  
“Thank you,” he breathed, clutching at the duffle bag for comfort.  
“Didn't know who you were until you said your names,” Ellon continued, thumbing the steering wheel.  
Ash had leaned close to Cas again, clearly making the Angel feel uncomfortable.  
“Yeah,” he said, “the description on the radio was quite detailed and it said you were in a suit with a tan trench coat.”  
Dean felt rather than saw Cas squirm. He was just grateful he had insisted that Cas throw his suit away, and that Cas had put the coat in the duffle bag instead of wearing it over the top of his borrowed cloths.  
In the future, he told himself, we must be careful when telling people our names.  
“So why you headed to Chicago, boys?” Ellon chirped.  
That all too familiar twist in Dean’s stomach caused him to choke out his answer.  
“Supplies. Cas and I need supplies,” he blinked slowly.  
“For what?” Jo had turned round to look at Dean again. He had to admit, she was very pretty. He liked the way her hair flowed with every move and how pink her lips were.  
His knee bashed with Castiel’s leg and the Angel jumped in pain.  
“Crap! Cas, I’m sorry!” Dean fumbled as Castiel pressed his head back against the seat’s headrest.   
Dean remembered the pain killers the medic had given Cas. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle. He shook two onto his palm, stowed the pills away, then handed the meds and what was left of their water to the Angel.  
Castiel chucked the tablets onto his tongue and finished the water in two massive gulps. Dean couldn’t help but notice the way Cas’ Addams apple bobbed with each swallow.  
“Ya’ll right honey?” Dean was touched by Ellon’s concern.   
Cas nodded and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He thanked Dean then closed his eyes.  
Dean smiled to himself, an action which didn’t go unnoticed.  
Jo tilted her head and batted her eyelids at him.  
“What?” Dean grumbled.  
Jo didn’t say anything but pointed to Cas, then to him, then made a heart shape with her hands.  
Ash snorted as Dean scowled at her.  
Ellon prodded her daughter.  
“Behave,” she hissed.  
Jo turned to face the front.  
The next 15 or so minutes were spent in silence.  
Castiel had started snoring softly. Dean watched him sleep. Every rise and fall of Cas’ chest was a temptation to touch. Just lay his hand on the Angel and feel him breathe.   
Dean dug his nails into his palm. Cas was driving him crazy.  
He looked away and watched the clouds. As he was beginning to feel drowsy himself, the peace was interrupted by a little noise from Jo.  
Dean became wide awake.  
They were approaching the gates to the city. The road divided into four lanes, each coming to a booth manned by Guards.   
Ellon chose a lane and joined the queue.  
“This could be a problem,” she mumbled.   
Dean leaned forwards to get a better look. The Guards were asking for identification. Of course they were. Shit.   
“Ok, Ash reach round and grab the blanket from the trunk. Dean wake Castiel,” Ellon ordered quickly.  
As Ash leaned over the back of the seat, Dean gave Cas a gentle shake.  
The Angel came to with a start, blinking sleep from his eyes.  
“S’going on?” he yawned, gazing at Dean.  
“Got it!” Ash slid back into his seat holding a coarse-looking, army-green blanket.  
“Dean I need you to get down onto the floor and Cas, lay as flat as you can along the seats,” Ellon barked.  
Giving Castiel’s arm a reassuring squeeze, Dean unbuckled and squished himself into the space between his seat and Jo’s. He was very careful to avoid touching Cas’ legs.  
A little confused, the Angel shuffled round so that he could lie on his back with his legs still in his foot space. Ash unfolded the blanket and draped it over them.  
Dean’s pulse quickened as the jeep lurched forwards. He managed to turn himself so he could look at Cas.  
Cas was keeping very still, eyes locked with Dean’s as Ash lifted the blanket enough to place the duffle bag and shot gun on top of him. The blanket above them kept shifting and wobbling until it finally became still.  
“Good to go,” they heard Ash say.  
It was quite hot under the green. The fibers were ticking Dean’s head. He was forcing himself to keep his breathing slow.  
His eyes never deviated from Castiel’s. There was something so honest, so terrified in those blue depths.  
Dean could just hear voices outside the jeep over the blood pounding in his ears.  
“Hello,” Ellon’s voice was pleasant. Dean couldn’t make out what the Guards were saying.  
“Certainly,” Dean guessed she was showing ID.  
“We’re visiting an old friend.”  
“Under the blanket? Just some bags we couldn’t fit in the trunk.”  
The material above them rippled as Ellon rolled down the window.   
“Show me,” the Guards rough voice sounded above them.  
Castiel closed his eyes in fear. Before he knew what he was doing, Dean had grabbed the Angel’s hand and was massaging comforting circles into the skin. Cas snapped open his eyes and stared at him, but before Dean could make himself let go, the Angel gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.  
Dean’s heart leaped in his chest. A small smile played on Castiel’s lips.  
The blanket above them shifted and Dean could just see Ash’s fingers. The strange man has rolled the blanket back enough to show the duffle bag.  
The Guard grunted and the sound of the window rolling back up told Dean they had gotten away with it.   
He let out a shaky sigh and withdrew his hand from Cas’. The Angel looked away, nose brushing the green material.   
The rumbling of the engine vibrated through the floor, rattling Dean’s bones.  
“Hold on a bit longer guys,” Ash said, “Wait till we’re further in before you come up for air.”  
***  
Dean had never been to Chicago before. He was almost able to put aside his fears and anxieties as he marvelled at the tall buildings surrounding him.  
Ellon had parked down a side street, nearer the slums of the city than Ash would have liked, and lead everyone a couple of streets over to a shabby looking bar. ‘The Roadhouse’ it was called.  
The painted sign was peeling, one of the windows was bordered up and the guttering was all but non-existent.   
Ellon pushed open the door and held it open so that Dean could help Castiel through.   
The Angel’s arm was draped over Dean’s shoulder and he was still limping heavily.  
Neither of them had said anything about what had happened in the jeep. Cas kept avoiding eye contact and Dean wasn’t exactly sure what to say in the first place.  
The inside of ‘The Roadhouse’ was much more homely than he expected.  
The dark wooded walls, the warn tables and chairs, the bar itself had a warm, safe feel about it.   
The place was empty. Not even the bartender was around.  
Dean supported Cas up to the bar and settled him onto a moth-eaten bar stool. Castiel sighed heavily. Dean was sure the Angel’s fingers lingered a little too long on his shoulder as Cas let go of him.  
He tried to catch Castiel’s eye but Cas had his gaze firmly fixed on Ellon.  
Ellon was leaning on the bar with an annoyed expression on her face.  
“Where the fuck is he?” she seethed.  
She wrapped her knuckles on the bar.  
“Victor? Where are ye, ye fucker?” she called out.  
There was a loud crashing from a side room to the left of the bar and a scruffy middle-aged man peeked round the door.  
“Ellon?” he beamed, “and Jo! Ash, you too! It’s been almost a week. Where have-?”  
Victor’s question caught in his throat and his smile fell when he spotted Dean and Cas.   
“Victor,” Ellon began, taking a step towards her friend.  
“No,” Victor cut her off, “No, nope, not again. You remember what happened last time.”  
“Victor please. At least until they are rested and ready to move on,” Ellon glanced at Castiel.  
The Angel looked miserable. Dean had to refrain from giving him a hug.  
Victor’s scowl made Ellon sigh. She grabbed his scruff and hauled the shorter man into the side room.  
“What was all that about?” Dean asked Jo, joining her by the smashed up jukebox.   
Jo shook her head slightly.  
“This isn’t the first time we’ve smuggled people into Chicago,” she said.  
Dean clenched his jaw, waiting for her to continue. Jo hitched herself up onto the nearest table and swung her legs.  
“There’s a small rebel movement operating in Chicago,” she explained, “My dad was one of them. When one of their missions went horribly wrong and dad was killed, mom kinda stepped in. We smuggle supplies and people in and out of the city. This bar is a hub. Mom brings stuff here and Victor then sorts it out and passes it round.”  
Dean nodded slowly, trying very hard to keep his expression neutral. The last thing he needed was to get caught up in a rebel skirmish. He just wanted to get out of the city as soon as possible.  
“The last time mom brought people here,” Jo continued, “they turned out to be Alistair’s spies and we were almost exposed.”  
The fire in Jo’s eyes warned Dean not to ask about what happened. He could imagine and that was enough.  
“Cas and I don’t want any trouble,” he promised.  
Jo narrowed her eyes at him, studying him.  
“I believe you,” she blinked after a while.  
The door to the side room swung open and Ellon marched out with a smug grin on her face. Victor followed suit looking less than happy.  
“You can stay,” he grumbled.   
Now that Dean had a full view of him, Dean felt slightly intimidated by Victor. The man was shorter than him but the bristle grazing his chin and the fierce passion burning in his eyes commanded respect.  
“Thank you,” Castiel looked up.  
Dean noticed that as soon as Victor set eyes on the Angel, his expression softened.  
“I bet you boys could use a drink,” Victor offered with half a smile.   
***  
Evening had crept in without anyone really noticing.  
Ash was sprawled on the tatty pool table, half empty whisky bottle by his head. Cas sat opposite Ellon and Jo at a table by the window knocking back shots with surprising gusto. Dean was perched on a bar stool, thumbing an empty bottle, watching Victor as the man cracked open another beer.  
Victor passed it over and Dean took a deep swig.  
He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten drunk. It was a great feeling. The cold, refreshing liquid hitting his lips and sliding down his gullet. It brought back memories of happier times.   
He was enjoying the muzzy, warm feeling so much he almost missed Victor’s question.  
“How long you boys known each other?” Victor flicked his towel over his shoulder and leaned on the bar across from Dean.  
“Erm,” Dean hummed as he tried to kick his brain into gear, “A day? Maybe?”  
Victor nodded, “You seem to be close.”  
Dean chuckled in his drunken state.  
“S’pose. We’re both broken and… and damaged,” he slurred.  
“Why’d you come to Chicago?” Victor tilted hid head slightly.  
“Supplies, but I don’t wan’ to be here,” Dean mumbled before he could stop himself.  
“Really? Why?” the bartender pressed.  
Dean paused to think. He was slightly confused. Why was he telling this stranger anything at all? And why was he considering answering the last question truthfully?  
“’Cause… ‘cause… I have… have a secret,” he breathed.  
He cast a glance over his shoulder to look at Cas. The Angel was grinning as Ellon laughed at him.  
Dean turned back to face Victor. He was beginning to feel sleepy.  
“We all have secrets but you can tell me,” Victor said absently.  
Dean was suddenly suspicious Victor’s interest. I’m drunk, but I’m not stupid, he thought to himself.  
“No,” he gave his bottle a squeeze, “I can’t.”  
Victor stilled. Dean glared at him.  
“Fine,” Victor said harshly, “but I hope you’re prepared to lose everything once it comes to light.”  
Victor marched down to the other end of the bar leaving Dean alone.  
Dean wasn’t sure what had just happened. His brain was too intoxicated to make sense of it but, in the pit of his stomach, there was a sinking feeling.  
He decided that he’d worry about it tomorrow. That was, if he even remembered anything tomorrow.  
He got up on unsteady legs and wobbled over to join Cas, looking for something to comfort him.  
The Angel shuffled over to give Dean more room. Dean slumped down next to him and rubbed his eyes.  
Ellon was fast asleep, head resting on the window. Jo too was sleeping, her head lolling against her mother’s shoulder.  
“Are you ok?” Castiel asked Dean, tilting his head.  
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Dean sighed.  
He glanced up only to be caught by Cas’ soulful blue eyes. Dean stared into their bright depths as a strange sense of peace settled over him. The warm tugging in his heart made him sigh.  
“What are you doing to me, Cas?” he mumbled.  
“I don’t understand,” the Angel blinked. His innocence made Dean smile.  
He leaned a bit closer to Cas, pleased that the Angel didn’t pull away.  
Dean’s eyes traced Castiel’s jaw line and flicked over his lips.   
“I, ah, I-“ Dean committed himself. He surged forwards and pressed his lips to the Angel’s.  
Castiel froze but as Dean placed a hand on his cheek, he let out a breath and pushed himself into the kiss.  
Dean smiled as he pulled away. There was a drunken lust sparkling in Castiel’s eyes.   
Dean shifted himself slightly to get a better angle then invaded the Angel’s breathing space once again. This time, as he was losing himself in the delicious moment, he flicked his tongue against Cas’ supple lips. Cas opened his mouth slightly to accept Dean’s tongue.   
Cas tasted like alcohol. Dean smirked as the Angel moaned softly. One of Dean’s hands cupped Cas’ cheek, the other was brushing through the Angel’s thick hair. Cas’ hands had found Dean’s waist.   
Dean knew that they were both drunk. He knew that they were going to have to talk about this in the morning but, for now, Dean was happy. Happier than he had been in a long time.


	15. The Trust in Others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I'm very sorry this chapter took me so long but with the run up to Christmas, I haven't had much time to write. This will be the last chapter until after the new year so watch this space ;) I hope you enjoy this chapter and please leave comment and feedback! I hope you have a great Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Dean opened his eyes to find himself staring at the gnarled wood of the table. His hot breath was tickling his nose and ears.   
Very very slowly, Dean raised his head and leaned back in his chair. It took his throbbing eyes a moment to focus on the sun-washed bar. His head felt heavy and a dull pounding echoed inside his skull.  
A clinking chinking noise coming from the bar pierced his head like daggers.   
Ellon tottered over to him with a lopsided grin on her face. She slid a glass of water across to him and placed a packet of aspirin by his arm.   
"First time since before the war?" she asked.  
Dean grunted and threw a couple of tablets into his mouth and chugged the water.   
Ellon wandered away and joined Jo and Victor by the bar. Ash was still sprawled on the pool table, but was now face down, his nose inserted into the left corner pocket.  
Flashes of the previous night mixed with swirly, groggy thoughts, sloshed around in his head. He remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach but couldn't quite pin why it was there. He definitely remembered kissing Castiel. A small smile crept onto his lips.   
Dean turned his head slightly to look at the Angel. Cas was a bundle of arms and legs in clothing too big for him, pressed against the window. His dark hair was messier than usual. His eyelids fluttered every now and then as if he were dreaming. His chest rose and fell with each deep, peaceful breath.  
He looks perfect, Dean thought to himself, my adorable, innocent little angel.   
Dean had to hold back a strangled laugh. He begged the aspirin to kick in soon and turned his attention to the conversation at the bar.  
"...and we need more anyway," Ellon was nodding.  
Jo was perched on a stool, head resting on folded arms. Victor glanced at her then cocked his head at Ellon.  
"Are you sure she's not hung over? We don't want any mistakes made."  
"I'm right here," Jo mumbled.  
"She's fine. Besides, it's a simple enough mission. She's done it before," Ellon narrowed her eyes at her friend.   
"Still right here!" Jo grumbled a little louder.  
Victor sighed, eyebrows slightly raised, and fixed Ellon with piercing eyes.  
"Fine!" Ellon snapped, "I'll go with her! But I'll take Dean with me."  
It was Victor's turn to narrow his eyes.  
"Why?" he demanded.  
"Because he'll be useful. Or would you rather be stuck with him AND the Angel to look after?"  
Victor glanced in Dean and Cas' direction. He mumbled something which Dean couldn't hear.  
"What're they chatting about?" Castiel's sleep hazy voice rumbled from behind Dean.   
Dean turned to look at Cas too quickly. His head spun, lights flashed in fronts his eyes, his stomach threatened to spew its contents and he had to grip the table to steady himself.  
"Dean?" the note of concern in the Angels tone forced a dark chuckle from Dean.  
"I'll be fine," he lied.  
Castiel sat up. He tested his injured leg by putting a little weight on it. He grimaced in pain but Dean was pleased. A grimace is better than a scream.  
"How's your leg?" Dean asked, fishing for conversation.  
Cas blinked at him and pulled the aspirin packet closer.  
"It's been better," he frowned, "but I think it's on the mend."   
The Angel popped two pills from the foil and placed them on the back of his tongue. Dean watched mesmerised as Cas curled his fingers round Dean's glass and gulped the rest of the water down. Tiny beads rolled down Cas' chin and splashed onto his tee shirt.  
It took Dean a moment to realise that Castiel was staring at him.  
"Sorry," he mumbled.  
"Don't apologise Dean," Cas shuffled a little closer so that their knees were touching.  
"It's just- I-," Dean tried to explain.  
Cas remained quiet, giving Dean time to gather his thoughts. Dean tried to clear his throbbing head and speak from the heart. Not something he was used to doing and he kept getting interrupted by random thoughts. 'How come Cas doesn't seem to have a hangover? The bastard' and 'Cas is very handsome' were two of them.  
"Cas," Dean tried again, "I like you. Like LIKE like you and if you LIKE like me too then great but you don't have to LIKE like me. It's ok if you don't LIKE like me back. I just had to tell you that I LIKE like you."  
Dean clamped his jaws shut. Idiot, he scolded himself.   
Cas tilted his head slightly. Dean was very aware of those blue eyes tracing his jawline and his lips.  
"Cas..." Dean wanted to apologies for the crazy outburst but was struggling to form words under the embarrassment.  
Castiel looked Dean straight in the eye before saying, "after I lost my family, I told myself that I wasn't going to love anyone ever again. It just hurt too much, but now..."  
Dean leaned a little closer, urging the Angel to continue.  
"There is something about you Dean Winchester," Cas breathed.  
Dean let a shy smile splay his lips.  
"Do you LIKE like me too?" he whispered.  
Cas grinned from ear to ear.   
"You're an assbutt," he chuckled, "yes. I LIKE like you too."  
Dean slid his hand into the Angel's and circled the soft skin with his thumb.  
Cas leaned forwards and pressed a chaste kiss to Dean's nose.  
"Get a room!" Jo yelled from the bar.  
Dean turned to look at her. She stuck her tongue out so he flipped her off.  
"Children!" Ellon scolded with a tut.  
Victor had turned his back on the room and seemed to be busying himself by cleaning glasses.  
"How are you feeling Dean?" Ellon asked a little to innocently for his liking.  
Dean could feel his headache slowly dissipating. The aspirin was helping but he was sure that it was more down to Cas.  
"I'm good," he decided, "why?"  
***  
This was such a bad idea, Dean told himself again as he followed Jo down a narrow alley. I should be getting out of Chicago, not sneaking around it.  
Jo halted suddenly causing Dean to slam into her back. She hissed at him and told him to be more careful. Dean scowled then peered over her shoulder.   
He could just make out Ellon on the opposite side of the street, dowsed in the shadow of the hardware store.  
The ginger woman disappeared from view as she slipped down the side of the building.   
Adrenalin spiked through Dean's veins as Jo shuffled nervously in front of him.   
The hardware store sat snugly between a thrift shop and a hostel. Dean had been told that the owner of the hardware store was supplying rebels with tools and parts, as well as any valuable intel. He had also been warned that Alistair had spies everywhere.   
Dean saw Ellon emerge from the shadows and beckon Jo towards her. Jo leaned out of the alley, looked left and right then sprinted across the street to join her mother.   
He prepared himself for his turn. Ellon nodded to him and Dean copied Jo by checking the surrounding area.  
To his left, the street stretched on. Shops lined each side as far as he could see. One or two people marched from store to store but otherwise, the street was quiet. To his right sat the hostel, looming over the road. A small, abandoned car park clung to its side and a run down church with missing slates and cracked steps hunched beside that.   
Dean flicked his gaze to as many of the surrounding windows as he could before launching himself into the road and skidding to a stop beside Ellon.  
Ellon led the way down the side of the hardware store and stopped by a small rusty door half hidden by garbage cans.   
She wrapped on the door once, twice, a quick burst of four then a final knock. After a minute the door squeaked open and a thin man with round glasses peeked through.  
"Hello Martin," Ellon smiled.  
Martin eyed the party suspiciously then stepped aside to let them in. Dean had to duck to avoid bashing his head off the frame.  
He found himself in a corridor with large cardboard boxes stacked as high as the ceiling on both sides. The dull lamp lighting the way flickered every now and again.  
Martin squished past him and trotted down the hall. Ellon strode after him with Jo on her heels, leaving Dean to bring up the rear.   
The lack of light made his, already sore, head pound. Dean wasn't claustrophobic but was finding it hard to breath in the cramped corridor. Martin opened a door on the left and hurried them inside.   
The sudden change in atmosphere caused Dean to stop for a moment. He was now in a light, airy, spacious room with a double window inhabiting the far wall, a couch and coffee table in the middle of the room and the fresh scent of flowers wafting from a vase on the mantle.  
Ellon made herself right at home and sunk down onto the brown leather couch. Jo joined her and Martin pulled over a wooden chair for Dean. Dean took it with a small nod and perched himself on it opposite the couch.  
Martin scurried out of the door and left the trio alone.   
"He's just gone to get our stuff," Ellon explained.   
Dean nodded and stared down at his thumbs.  
Ellon cleared her throat. Dean looked up at her under his lashes to see her arms folded, legs crossed, eyebrows raised. For some reason, Dean shuffled up straight and met her gaze.  
Jo snorted and received a sharp prod in the ribs.  
"Hey!" she moaned as her mother withdrew her finger.  
Dean liked Ellon. She reminded him of his mother, in a weird spotty memory kind of way.   
"So what's your story Dean?" Ellon tilted her head slightly so that her hair flowed in a curtain over her left shoulder.  
Dean trusted Ellon. He trusted Jo. He decided to be truthful.  
"I'm looking for my brother Sam," he bit his bottom lip.  
Dean told the Harvelle's about the radio broadcast telling him that Sam was alive after 5 years of believing he was dead. He briefly mentioned the slaughter in the hall and his visit to the head of state, obviously, missing out the deal and the package. He told them about Davenport and the Tran's and Henry. He spoke of his struggle after the bullet wound in his shoulder and how Castiel rescued him. He told them about his time with The Angels and of his and Cas' escape. He finished by reliving the crash behind his eyes and that's when he met them.  
Dean stopped and took a deep, shaky breath. Ellon smiled at him softly. Jo just looked away.  
"We've all lost someone close since Lucifer took over," Ellon said after a few moments.  
Dean remembered Jo telling him about her father. He flashed a sympathetic glance at the blond girl. To his surprise, she didn't glare back or snap a retort. She just gave him a silent nod.  
"Cas and I need to get out of Chicago and make our way to Arizona," Dean sighed.  
"We will help you where we can," Ellon promised with her eyes.  
Dean was about to thank her when Martin bustled back in carrying a large crate.   
"Here you go," he mumbled, practically throwing it at Ellon who managed to stand up and catch it in time.  
Martin held the door open for them, "now hurry up and bugger off."  
***  
They made it back to The Roadhouse without any incidents. Well, unless you count Jo tripping over her own feet and falling into Ellon. If Dean hadn't been as quick as he was, the crate would have been on the pavement.  
As they crossed over the road, Ellon halted. Dean cast her a sideways glance as he strode past her.  
"Dean stop!" Ellon hissed, "something isn't right!"  
Dean froze on the spot. His thoughts turned immediately to Castiel.  
Before he could move, Jo had scurried past him and braced herself by the door. She peered round the cracked wood.  
A crash came from just behind the door and Jo jumped out of the way just in time as Ash stormed through, waving a chair leg in the air.  
"Ellon?" Ash skidded to an unsteady halt, "Oh thank fuck it's you! We thought it was more of them!"  
"Wh-what?" Ellon dumped the crate.  
The last thing Dean heard before rushing inside The Roadhouse was Ash saying, "Spies. They came for the Angel, who is a mental fucker let me tell you!"  
The first thing Dean saw as he entered the bar were the bodies of three ordinary looking men sprawled by the jukebox. The second thing he saw was Victor in a bloody mess on the floor by the bar. The last thing he saw, before his heart stopped hammering against its cage, was Cas propped up against the bar, not a foot from Victor, with bloodied knuckles and panting for breath.  
"Cas!" Dean rushed over to the Angel and caught him under the arms before he collapsed.  
"Dean?" Cas seemed to be struggling to focus on his face.  
Dean pulled him onto a bar stool and reached over the bar to find some ice.  
"No time-Dean. Gotta get-get out-of here," the Angel said through gasps.  
"What happened?" Ellon burst through the door with Jo and Ash on her heels.  
"Victor!" Jo brought her hands to her mouth.  
"He's still alive," Castiel grunted rather bitterly.  
"Cas?" Dean took a step back as Cas rose to his feet and limped round to face the crumpled mess that was Victor.  
"Apparently," Castiel seethed, "we have a price on our heads, Dean. Not just from The Angels but from Alistair as well."  
Dean's stomach went cold. So Alistair was looking for him. He didn't know why he was surprised. He knew it was going to happen but, Cas was now caught in the crossfire.  
"This... This BASTARD," Cas gave Victor a violent kick, "was going to hand us over."  
"No!" Ellon gasped, "he wouldn't!"  
"He almost did," Ash laid a hand on Ellon's arm, "those guys came into the bar and if Cas hadn't realised who they were or what was up?" Ash shuddered.  
"Why?" Ellon whispered as she crouched down next to Victor.  
Dean didn't have an answer. Amongst the new dread swirling in his head, he vaguely remembered his conversation with Victor the other night. The man had asked him a lot of questions. He remembered being suspicious.  
"It doesn't matter. We can't stay," Castiel turned to look at Dean, then at Ellon, Jo and Ash.  
"It isn't safe here," his deep voice seemed to fill every inch of the bar, "Not for anyone. Not anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS I have something special planned for the next chapter. A late Christmas present if you will :)


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